Outtakes from Odessen
by Keldae
Summary: A series of one-shots set during KOTFE or 'Last Hope', focusing on Clan Taerich. Not necessarily in chronological order or lore-obeying. Potential alternate endings and shenanigans ensue!
1. Pet

**Welcome to the collection of oneshots set during "Last Hope". Not necessarily in chronological order, potential alternate-endings for some chapters, and not all necessarily from Theron's POV. Enjoy!**

 **If I had ownership of Star Wars, do you really think I'd be writing fanfiction?**

* * *

He should have known better than to think today would be an 'ordinary' day when he woke up this morning. Walking into the military docking bay showed him the error of his thinking pretty damn quickly.

Theron walked up the durasteel ramp to Admiral Aygo's command centre, the ringing of his boots on the metal decking doing nothing to distract the three men staring up at the ceiling. That was the former SIS agent's first indication that something was terribly wrong- Reanden Taerich, a longtime double-agent with SIS and Sith Intelligence, should never have been so distracted by something that he was unaware of an approaching person.

The looks on the men's faces were the second indicator that something was wrong. Reanden looked highly irritated, Admiral Aygo had an expression of what seemed to be abject horror, and Doctor Lokin just looked… equal parts amused and mildly perplexed. Although the old man had permanently worn a hint of a smug expression since he and the former Cipher Nine had arrived on Odessen four days ago, so maybe he was just closer to puzzled.

Theron came to a stop beside the older three, not earning so much as a glance or a word of greeting from any of them, and had been about to ask what the hell was going on when- was that a chittering noise from above him? The younger agent (indeed, the youngest man here by probably at least ten years) looked up, eyes widening… "... Doctor Lokin, what exactly is a rakghoul doing in the rafters of the hangar?"

"I'd like to know the answer to that myself," growled Aygo.

"He likes to perch up high. It lends him a good view of his surroundings," offered Doctor Lokin with a far calmer tone of voice than any man had a right to use when there was a rakghoul twenty metres over his head, chittering down at his audience with what Theron suspected to be a gleeful tone, if rakghouls knew what glee was.

"... It's a rakghoul. In the ceiling of the Alliance military hangar." Theron looked down from the lurking rakghoul to glare at Lokin. "You _do_ know what rakghouls do to people, right?"

Aygo made some noise in his throat that could have been a furious, poorly-strangled snarl… or it could have been a terrified groan.

"He's quite tame, really." Lokin offered Theron a placating smile. "Scritchy wouldn't harm anyone."

There was a long pause. "... I can't believe you named your pet rakghoul _Scritchy_ ," Reanden finally growled out.

"It's a perfectly fine name!" Lokin protested.

"I can't believe that's your biggest problem with this entire situation!" Theron snapped.

Above their heads, 'Scritchy' suddenly made a louder noise, then appeared to regurgitate whatever (or whoever?) it had last eaten. The four-man audience quickly darted to the side as a small pile of rakghoul vomit decorated the deck where they'd been standing a moment ago.

"That," muttered Aygo, who appeared to be pale under his fur, "is the foulest thing I've smelled in years."

Theron gave the rakghoul a baleful glare upward, earning a smug chitter in response, then frowned at Lokin. "So, have you explained to the Commander yet why there's a virus-carrying creature running around loose in her base?"

Lokin's eyes widened. Apparently he'd neglected to warn Master Taerich of that bit of news.

"I'm not explaining this," Reanden groaned. "I'm having flashbacks to her mother learning about the gizka her brothers adopted on a whim."

"Did you just compare Scritchy to a mindless gizka?" Lokin inquired, a dangerous tone coming to his voice as he glared at his old cohort.

"The gizka wasn't at risk for spreading a plague to every single inhabitant of the base," Reanden growled. "We can't have T.H.O.R.N. out here if the worst happens!"

"Maybe we can get it out of here before the Commander finds out about it?" Aygo mused.

"Not likely," Theron muttered. "She was two minutes behind me, just got stopped talking to Lana."

Lokin and Reanden shared a mutually-terrified look before the old scientist looked back up at the rafters. "C'mon, Scritchy," he cajoled the rakghoul, and Theron secretly hoped he'd never have to hear the old agent trying to sound sweet and gentle like that again. "Let's come down before we have an angry Jedi on our hands, okay?"

Scritchy made a sound that Theron could have sworn was a cackle, and climbed to a slightly higher rafter to gloat at the humans (and one Bothan) below him.

Theron groaned, then looked to the entrance of the hangar as two lightsaber-carrying women appeared- one with short blonde hair, and one significantly shorter with longer red locks. "Blast it!"

Lokin's face paled to match his hair and jacket. "You're in on this too," he muttered at his three unwilling cohorts. "He broke out of his cage and we've been trying to corral him ever since."

"You don't even own a cage for it!" Reanden groaned.

Theron had his mouth partway open to tell both of the older agents to quit their bickering (and to tell Lokin that he had absolutely zero part in any of this mess) before Aygo suddenly clapped his shoulder. "Agent Shan," he said loudly, "I've got some new intel from my scout forces that you'll want to take a look at, right this way..." as he led the younger man away from the scene of Scritchy's escape.

"Thank you," Theron hissed under his breath as he let himself be led to safety from the rakghoul, two very irritated Imperial-trained agents, and the scene that was about a minute away from witnessing a Jedi Master's fury.

"Don't mention it," Aygo muttered. "Ever." He approached a desk on the far side of a starfighter and produced a couple of datapads, pushing one at Theron. "Besides, I actually do have things for you to look into. Ever heard of Qyzen Fess?..."

Theron did try to focus on the datapads, honest. But he was still watching out of the corner of his eye when Xaja Taerich stopped only a pace away from the rakghoul vomit that would have irrevocably stained her boots, then looked up to the ceiling, ignoring her father's failed attempts to distract her. "... Doctor Lokin," she finally said, her voice the precise level of dangerous calm that promised she was one bad explanation away from tearing the agent's head off, "what the _hell_ is a rakghoul doing in the ceiling of my military wing?"

* * *

Four hours later, Theron was convinced he was going to be the first medically documented case of a human's eyes literally bulging out of one's skull. If he wasn't, Korin probably would be at the sight both of them were facing. "What the hell?..."

Xaja sighed as the little rakghoul capered along behind her, acting for all the world like a damned pet. "I apparently have been adopted by a foot-tall virus-carrying plague-causing critter." She looked down at Scritchy (who had come to sit right beside her left boot and stare up at her with something Theron felt he could call 'adoration'), then back at her brother and her lover with a scowl. "Not a word out of either of you."

"Not a word about what?" Korin asked quickly.

"Exactly." Xaja resumed walking, Scritchy in her wake. "Maybe I'll sic him on Vaylin…"

And so, Theron didn't breathe so much as a word about Xaja's apparent new pet to anyone (except joining with her family and close confidants when complaining about the little rakghoul). But if he did have a few holoimages that he'd taken covertly and at great personal risk of Xaja petting the little beast with something approaching affection… well, maybe he could pin them on Koth if she ever found out. But for now, he just grinned every time he saw the holos.


	2. Phobia

**I, shockingly, still don't own Lucasfilm, or Star Wars, or BioWare. Someone give me winning lottery numbers so I can fix this.**

* * *

It was a closely guarded secret that Xaja Taerich, Jedi Battlemaster and Alliance Commander, the Hero of Tython, Outlander, Irritator of Valkorion, Downfall of Two Zakuulan Emperors (to date) and Persistent Thorn In Vaylin's Side, had three severe phobias. The number of people who knew the specifics of said phobias were limited to a very few certain trusted (or snoopy) individuals.

First, there was the fear of carbonite. Xaja still had nightmares about being trapped in a carbon freezing chamber while still being fully conscious, something that Theron could attest to. Given her past history, it was a perfectly reasonably phobia that mostly everyone in the base had at least a suspicion of. And the first thing Arcann had done when he'd arrived on Odessen and had managed to not get shot by Xaja's security detail (mostly consisting of her father and brothers) was apologize profusely for his imprisonment of her, even going to his knees. Theron suspected the former Emperor was still apologizing, and probably would be for the rest of his life. That was to be expected, as he was pretty sure Xaja hadn't quite forgiven him for that yet. Theron himself most certainly hadn't.

Then there was the fear of shock collars and restraints. That had been a fear of Xaja's from long before Zakuul's invasion. Theron suspected it'd had something to do with Vitiate's first imprisonment of her back when her Jedi strike team had been overwhelmed and put under Sith mind control. Xaja had been quite unwilling to talk about it, but Reanden (who'd managed to infiltrate the station where she was being held and eventually helped free her) had hinted at shock collars being used to torture the Jedi prisoners. He hadn't wanted to talk about it either, and Theron knew better than to push the older spy on the subject.

He'd also learned pretty quickly how little Xaja liked being bound when they were in bed together, no matter what other kinks she might have been interested in. But that was something for another day.

The third phobia was far more mundane, and couldn't be explained back to any past trauma (that Xaja could recall)- and really, if it was anyone except the Alliance Commander who openly admitted to having this particular fear, there would have been sympathy and understanding from her peers… and probably some merciless teasing. But Xaja firmly believed she had to give off the image of being invulnerable and strong around her alliance members, despite the command staff's insistences to the contrary.

Which was how Theron found himself being urgently summoned to Xaja's quarters (unofficially, _their_ quarters, as in the quarters he shared with her) on an otherwise ordinary afternoon about two days after Arcann had defected to Odessen. Brushing off the laughter from Koth at what that 'urgent summoning' could possibly be from the pretty Commander, Theron strode out of the war room, turned left down the hallway, and palmed open the door without the need for knocking.

Dirtier minds on Odessen might have, upon hearing of the Commander's midday summoning of her known lover (honestly, the worst-kept secret in Wild Space), imagined the pretty red-haired woman lounging in a seductive pose wearing something significantly less than her normal light armoured uniform. Such minds would have been surprised to see that same Commander, in her normal gear, pressed up against a wall and staring in mute terror at a small dark spot on her couch's headrest. Theron sighed as he walked up beside his lover and lightly touched her shoulder, making her start. "At least you called me _before_ getting HK this time?"

"It's fast," Xaja whispered, still staring at the offending intrusion without so much as a smile for Theron. "It's fast and it's huge and probably toxic and it's pure evil on eight legs."

"Ah." Theron sagely nodded. "Valkorion's found a new way to torment you, has he?"

Xaja made some sort of strangled whimper that sounded like affirmation, then looked up at Theron with the most pleading expression she could muster. "Kill it? Please?"

As if Theron would have ever been able to deny Xaja anything, even as he sighed and cautiously approached the couch, eyeing the source of his lover's terror with a baleful look. "Theron Shan, former Jedi trainee, former top SIS agent, current operations director for the Odessen Alliance, and head of the Commander's personal Spider Killing Squad," he said over his shoulder with a chuckle. "I think we might have to talk about a pay raise for my newest job here."

"Theron!" Xaja didn't find that half as funny as he did.

"Sorry, love." Theron slowly removed one of his boots, then resumed his cautious advance toward the couch. The spider shifted slightly, a dark blob against the blues and greys of the fabric. "That's it, beastie…" Theron muttered under his breath as he slowly lifted his weapon of choice against the spider. What else were boots made for, anyway? "Just stay right there…"

The spider had to have been Force sensitive and aware of Theron's intentions, because it hauled itself away a nanosecond before Theron's boot could mush it into an unrecognizeable pile of dead arachnid and vanished down the side of the couch.

Xaja emitted a sharp, terrified squeak as she darted further away from her contaminated couch. "Where is it?!"

Theron swore eloquently as he quickly hobbled around the couch, hazel eyes darting around. There- that looked to be a suspiciously spider-like leg halfway under the furniture. Theron stomped down with the foot that wasn't clad in only an unprotected sock, and growled as the spider retreated further under the couch. "Get back here, you son of a-"

The door slid open, and Lana poked her blonde head in. "Commander, there's been a- what's going on?" she asked, observing the scene in front of her.

"Spider," was all Xaja squeaked out by way of explanation.

Theron heard a sharp intake of breath, and then a noise that sounded suspiciously like Lana had just grabbed Xaja's arm. The Sith was the only person on the base more afraid of spiders than Xaja was. "What?! Where? Is it dead?!"

"Working on it, ladies!" Theron raised his head and scowled at the wall. "Can one of you get HK? I need that concentrated cleaning solution he had on the _Gravestone_."

"Not a flamethrower?" Lana asked.

"It's the only way to be sure," Xaja agreed, eyes wide and face pale.

"Hey, I live in this room too, I'd like to keep this furniture inta _AAGH_!" Theron jumped as the spider picked that moment to run across his sock-clad foot and make a break for safety under the bed. _Frack this,_ the spy thought as he dropped his boot and made for a blaster, ignoring both Jedi and Sith screeching behind him as they caught sight of their most feared and hated nemesis.

The spider had almost made it to safety before Theron's shot at close range nailed it, ending its ability to cause further terror on the base. The spy reholstered his blaster, tugged his boot back on, and turned to exit the room, trying to not shake his head at Xaja and Lana, who were both still clinging to each other and staring at the smoking remains of the offending spider. "You're welcome," he growled to both women as he let himself out.

Go figure, Arcann and Koth were right outside the door, both looking alternately like they were sizing each other up for a fight and bewildered at what was going on in the Commander's quarters. "Was that… blaster fire?" Arcann asked in confusion.

Theron thought about just saying the truth, and then rationalized that Xaja would probably never forgive him for telling Arcann about one of her phobias. "Weapon malfunction," was all he said.

"... Connected to Lana screaming like a banshee?" Koth craned his head at the door curiously, then looked at Theron with an evil grin. "What kind of weapon malfunction are we talkin' here? You weren't summoned very long, after all- OW!"

"Shut up, Koth." Theron gifted the Zakuulan with a glare as he returned to the war room, hearing Arcann stifle a snort (poorly) and having to endure the curious glances everyone else gave him as he returned to his station. _The things I do for her…_

His musings were interrupted by Xaja's loud screech that could be heard quite clearly without the need for a com. "THERON! THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!"

Theron groaned and started walking back to her quarters with snickers from the rest of the command staff echoing behind him, tapping his ear implant to bring up HK's frequency. "Get to the Commander's quarters, and bring your favourite spider-killing cleaning solution," he growled out. "Before she and Lana tear the place apart trying to get rid of all the spiders themselves."


	3. Shipping

**In which, Odessen's rumour mills are just as terrifying as one might expect, some people clearly have too much time on their hands, and Theron wonders if there's ways to un-hear what he's just heard.**

* * *

"I think he's gay. He just doesn't know it yet."

Well, _that_ wasn't how Theron thought he'd start with his regular eavesdropping session on the Alliance gossip vines. But at least it wasn't another theory about how Arcann was Xaja's spurned lover and she'd only been in carbonite briefly for some infraction as part of the Emperor's personal harem, so the spy decided he'd keep listening.

(The person who'd come up with that particular story was still on sanitation duty. And Senya was quite adamant that not only had Xaja been in carbonite from day one, but Zakuulan Emperors did not have harems.)

"He can't be. Have you seen the way he looks at her?"

"I wish he looked at me the same way." One of the scientists in the cantina sighed dramatically. "He's got such a handsome brooding face…"

"Maybe he's brooding because he's secretly got a thing for Captain Taerich, and she's being all possessive and not letting him go?"

"Hmmm." Another one of the group of off-duty science officers tilted his head in thought. "They would be super-cute together, too."

"Maybe he's the one who can finally fill whatever void is in Captain Korin's heart that he's trying to fill by flirting with everyone else he meets!" The scientist who'd commented on the handsome brooding face swooned, her long dark hair swaying with the motion.

"Come on, not even he could do that. He'd wind up just broken hearted and bitter after the Cap'n went back on his carousing ways." The Devaronian male snorted. "He'd just get back with her again."

"I wonder if she's pulling rank on him and that's why she keeps him in her bed?" mused the violet-skinned Togruta.

"Oh, I know! We'll intervene!" The Devaronian looked over at one of his male friends with a grin. "I convince her that she needs to give an alien a try…"

"While I liberate him and have his undying love and affection as reward for freeing him from her clutches." The human with an Imperial accent offered a fist-bump to his friend. "It's perfect!"

Theron silently shook his head and inwardly pitied whoever they were talking about.

"Nah, wouldn't work. I'm pretty sure Agent Taerich set it up that way."

"Is he with Knight Senya?"

"Would _you_ sleep with Valkorion's ex?"

"Well, she is good lookin' for being old…"

 _Oh, Senya's gonna kill someone._

"I'm sure she's gonna set the Commander up with her son to end this war. Y'know, how they used to end wars way back in the day with a marriage?"

"They still do that on Alderaan, y'know."

Theron nearly choked on air.

"I don't think the Commander would be in on it. I'm pretty sure she's getting it on with Lord Beniko behind Agent Shan's back."

"Are you kidding? All three of them are in on it together!"

"Ooooooh." The Twi'lek woman in the group paused, and grinned. "That's just exciting to think about."

 _I'm never telling Lana or Xaja about this._ Theron tried to not think about that particular scenario very hard for fear of having a nosebleed in the cantina.

"Too bad it ain't real. Lana's a thing with Captain Vortena."

"What? No she isn't!" The Arkanian paused. "But she should be."

Theron had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the idea.

"Isn't she with Lord Duathion?"

"The Commander's brother? He's married!"

"What?!" The Twi'lek woman looked devastated. "Since when?!"

"I dunno. At least since his wife arrived with the rest of the Mandalorians. One of Torian Cadera's distant cousins, I think?"

The ex-Sith in question picked that moment to arrive at Theron's table. The spy looked up, gave Sorand a quick grin and a sign to be quiet, and gestured toward a seat. Sorand sat down, glanced over at the gossip mill brewing a few tables away, returned Theron's smirk and settled in to listen.

"Huh." The Devaronian tilted his head. "Never would have pegged him to be the type to shag a Mando girl. He's too… gentle."

"You think he's secretly gay too?"

"Maybe." A dark-skinned scientist gasped as a sudden revelation dawned on her. "Oh, I know! Instead of setting Agent Shan up with Captain Korin, we'll put him with Lord Duathion instead!"

Theron's jaw dropped as he put the pieces from the previous parts of the conversation together. Sorand choked on his own saliva, brown eyes impossibly wide with shock.

"Eeeeexcept that Lord Duathion's married. We've covered this already, Kiaselmi. Do catch up."

"Aren't Mandos into… whadya call them, open marriages?"

Sorand mutely shook his head in disbelief.

"Uhh… maybe?"

"But he's a Sith. Agent Shan wouldn't go for him."

"You sure? I'm pretty sure he's just a Dark Jedi who failed out of the Academy AND the Temple."

"You know what, that makes sense. He's too nice to be a Sith."

Theron felt himself go pale and glanced over at Sorand, who was scowling ferociously and mouthing 'Too _nice_ for a Sith?!' to himself.

"How about we cover all our bases, and set Agent Shan up on a date with both of them?"

"Oooooh! So even when Captain Korin inevitably breaks his heart, Lord Duathion will still be there! I'm sure Ms Verhayc won't mind."

"Can I be the one Agent Theron turns to with his broken heart? He does have a dreamy brooding face…"

Sorand gave Theron a look like he was stifling laughter. Theron felt like he wanted to throw up.

"Okay, fine, we'll set you up with him if both of the Commander's brothers turn him down."

"And we'll save the Commander from an arranged marriage to the Emperor by setting her up with… uhhh, Captain Vortena?"

"Sure, sounds good. He's a grouch anyway, he needs to get laid."

"I thought she was part of Vaylin's harem though. Y'know, princess prerogatives and all and that's why they hate each other because of mutually broken hearts?"

"... Oh, that's actually kinda hot. Mmmm, Force-using hate sex..."

Theron and Sorand exchanged a look, a silent agreement to never, ever tell Xaja about this.

"But if the Commander has the old Emperor living in her head… does he possess her sometimes? And if she's part of Vaylin's harem…"

There was a long pause before everybody (eavesdroppers included) shuddered.

"Well, that might explain some things with Vaylin…"

"Might also explain why Knight Senya likes hanging around the Commander so much."

"You don't think…?"

"Oh yeah. It's the old Emperor settin' things up."

"So we break up the Commander and Agent Shan, set Shan up with Captain Korin or Lord Duathion- and yes, you too, Morris, quit giving me that look- and then get the Commander with Senya so Valkorion's happy and doesn't consume all of us?"

"Sounds like a plan!"

"But the poor Commander. Better get her in an arrangement with me instead of the old lady for her own sake."

"Oh, for the love of…" Theron got out of his seat and walked past the table all casual-like with Sorand right behind him, the conspirators unaware of his listening in until he stopped behind the Devaronian's chair and spoke loudly. "You know Koth's gay and I'm not, right?"

Koth wasn't actually gay, as far as the spy was aware, but Theron was still mad enough about a particularly unwelcome prank involving industrial-strength adhesive and Theron's pants to not care about this misinformation.

"Eeeep!" Two of the more talkative conspirators jumped in startlement at Theron's displeased-sounding voice coming from directly behind them. "Mister- er, uh, Agent Shan, uh, sir!" one said quickly- the Twi'lek, who was now a very pale shade of blue. "We were just, uhhh… ummm… oh, uh, good afternoon, Lord Duathi-"

"Too nice?" Sorand had pulled out the Darth Imperius voice in full force, and Theron was suddenly very, very grateful he wasn't on the receiving end of it. "Too _nice_ to be a Sith? Shall I show you just how _nice_ I can be?" He raised his left hand and lightning started dancing around his fingers, crackling in the otherwise-silence of the cantina in a very menacing manner. "Especially to people who seem to like trying to interfere with my marriage?"

A dozen faces went white (or nearly-white, depending on alien skin tones), and their owners were only saved by the timely arrival of one of the prior subjects of conversation. "Enough, brother!" Xaja's voice cracked like a whip over the sound of lightning building in Sorand's hand. She had the Alliance Commander voice going today. "Is tormenting off-duty science officers necessary off of Dromund Kaas?"

"They called me a Dark Jedi," Sorand growled as he scowled at Xaja. "I'm bloody well strong enough for the Dark Council and they called me-"

"I. Don't. Care." Xaja rested her hands on her hips stubbornly. "I'll make you clean up whatever mess you cause in here with your own damned toothbrush, and I'll get your wife to take holos while doing so. Are we clear?"

A heartbeat of silence before Sorand muttered "Yes, Commander," and made to stand down, before pausing and giving the conspirators a dark glare. "The Commander won't be able to save the next person who tries to break up my wife and I. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord," came a chorus of terrified squeaks.

Sorand nodded once, then moved to leave the cantina, ignoring Xaja's facepalming. "Hey, by the by- have you seen my wife?"

"Check the military wing," Xaja sighed as her brother finally left the cantina, giving Theron a longsuffering look. "Do I want to know?"

"No, but I have a related crisis that needs immediate intervention, Commander." Knowing full well he was in full view of the still-frozen table of scientists, Theron walked up to Xaja and gave her a long and thorough kiss that, from the soft noise she made in her throat and the way she wound up holding onto his shoulders, turned her limbs to gel and her brain to mush. "How busy are you right now?" he asked when he'd pulled away, pleased to not hear catcalls or whistles from the table behind him, but rather quiet sighs and one singular depressed-sounding grunt.

Xaja seemed to be struggling to get her breath back. "... Another round of attempted matchmaking from the masses?" she finally asked in a whisper.

"Yeah, worse than last time. Certain minds seem to think I'd look better beside your brother than you or think setting you with Arcann will end this wa-"

"Oh, hell no." Xaja grabbed the lapels of Theron's jacket firmly as she pitched her voice back to a normal volume. "And this information's classified, you say? I'm going to need a thorough briefing, Agent."

"Of course. My pleasure, Commander." Theron only paused to give the group of dismayed and broken-hearted matchmakers an evil smirk before letting Xaja pull him back to their quarters.

And _this_ was why he subjected himself to paying close attention to the rumour mills on the base. Better to find out himself than by risking having Korin or Reanden pass it on while dying of laughter themselves...

* * *

 **To be continued? Maybe? Or at least there'll be tie-ins with other outtakes. *cackles manically***


	4. Recruitment

**And you thought all the Outtakes were going to be happy and silly and shenanigans-filled. Gotta have some invasion-years angst, after all! In which, Theron's not the only person suffering emotionally as a result of Zakuul's existence. Takes place somewhere during Chapter II of KOTFE.**

 **Also, what's this? Multiple Outtakes posted in one day? Inconceivable! (This is what happens when Keldae gets bored at work, FYI.)**

* * *

In the last year and a half, the Fleet cantina onboard Carrick Station had experienced a steadily-decreasing population. In times past, the place would have been filled with smugglers, mercenaries, off-duty soldiers, and Jedi passing through on Order (or personal) business; now most of those normal regulars had been killed or, in the case of the Jedi, driven into exile. Even the smugglers were fewer, with most of them having fallen to Zakuul's harsh justice system or laying low to avoid said justice.

Theron knew the man he was looking to meet was still alive and kicking, having slipped through Zakuul's fingers more than once already. Hopefully he wasn't as afraid to show his face as the spy was currently dreading.

The dark-haired agent took a swallow from the bottle in front of him, the low burn of what claimed to be Corellian ale (but given how expensive such a luxury was nowadays, probably just a knock-off) lingering in the back of his throat. It was a self-medication that he'd turned to ever since the news of Darth Marr's flagship being destroyed had reached his ears, with the confirmation of her death aboard it. Or had she been captured and taken to Zakuul for execution there? Reports conflicted. Either way, she was gone from the galaxy, her like to never be seen again, and the void in his heart that she'd left behind one that would never be filled.

The only thing that kept him from succumbing to the pain that threatened to consume him was the thought of revenge, or justice, or whatever the frack one wanted to call it. But Theron knew not even he, in all of his grief-filled rage, could make Zakuul burn by himself for what they'd done. He needed help.

That help dropped into the booth across from him, once all cocky smiles and charismatic bravado, now hunched shoulders and dark lines under his eyes and grey showing up in his dark blond hair. Theron was willing to bet that the normally-laughing, prank-masterminding smuggler hadn't so much as smiled since the news of his sister's death. "You look like hell," the newcomer quietly said by way of greeting, his voice low and rougher than Theron had grown accustomed to.

"So do you, Captain," Theron answered the spacer, watching Korin Taerich flinch minutely. "Are you…"

"Okay?" Korin snorted bitterly. "My sister was killed by those sons of bitches from Wild Space. My little brother's been presumed KIA by the Wrath- you know they found his mask in the wreck of what used to be his apartment? He never took that off in public, didn't want to be identifiable without it..."

Theron nodded, remembering the surprisingly-young Darth Imperius, who looked and acted more like his older Jedi sister than any Sith would have expected. "He hated that thing, didn't he?"

"Figures it'd be the only thing of his to…" Korin trailed off and gave the innocent table between himself and Theron a dark glare. "... And my father's gone completely off the radar, no idea where the hell he is or if he's even still alive an' unless he contacts me, no way to know anythin' about him. How the _hell_ do you think I am?"

Theron had lost his lover. Korin had lost his sister, his brother, and possibly his father. The spy pushed over the still-unopened bottle of ale beside him. "Look like you could use this."

"Thanks," Korin mumbled as he accepted the bottle, cracked it open with a practiced twist of his wrist, and took a long drink from it. "You still look like shit."

"Feel like it." The words escaped Theron's mouth before he could reign them in. Maybe his own drink had hit him harder than he'd thought, especially considering he wasn't eating or sleeping more than the bare minimum to survive, now that he thought about it…

Korin's hazel eyes widened slightly. "You an' her were…"

"... We never talked about it," Theron said quickly, and perhaps a bit too harshly. "We- I thought there'd be time to…" The pause was painful and made Theron's throat ache with a cry of grief he couldn't give voice to, not here, not now.

"The son of a bitch on that gorram shiny throne's gonna answer for this," Korin finally growled, eyes flashing. "Dunno how, but I'm gonna kill him myself."

"If I don't first," Theron muttered, hand tightening around his ale.

"... I take left side, you take right?"

"Works for me."

"Good." Korin took another swig of his drink. "Now we just gotta find a way to burn Zakuul to its own damn core. Any plans?"

"Not directly, but I do have a suggestion." Theron hadn't contacted Korin for a social call, after all. He reached under his jacket and pulled out a datapad. "You're damn good at your job, you know."

"I'm still here, ain't I?" Korin scowled at his drink. "Besides, bein' good at what they did didn't save Xaja or Sorand from-" His sentence ended abruptly as pain flashed through his eyes, a pain Theron felt too well, something that couldn't be helped with medication or kolto. "... Sorry."

Theron's shoulders slumped under his jacket as he focused very, very intently on his datapad. In a fair fight, Xaja should have won any fight that came her way, even against Emperor Arcann. Hell, she'd fought Vitiate and won before, hadn't she? She'd even taken down Revan! He took a moment to regain his composure (it wouldn't do for him to break down here, of all places, with regret and mourning for Xaja Taerich consuming him so completely), then looked back at Korin when he felt marginally more stable. "Like I was saying- you're good. Hell, you're almost as good as _me_ as a slicer, and I know you can smooth-talk your way onto Dromund Kaas of all places, maybe even Zakuul. And you're Force-sensitive enough to be dangerous in all the right ways to the right people."

"You didn't yank me out here to stroke my ego, Shan. What is it?"

This was borderline treason against the Republic, depending who one talked to. Theron didn't care. He pushed the datapad over the table at Korin. "I'm offering you a job."

"What, with the SIS?"

"No. I need an asset who's as good as me, on the same plan as me, and not tied to the Republic." Theron took a deep breath, knowing the hell he would catch from the Director or his father if news of this got out. He'd just been reinstated not that long ago, too… but he didn't care. "And somebody with a healthy regard for discretion… and who wants the same thing I do."

"Arcann's metallic head on a platter." Korin lifted the datapad, reading Theron's proposed offer. "You train me into bein' your mini-me, send me out into the dark an' nasty areas of space you can't get to, an' have me report directly back to you without your bosses gettin' wind of this?"

"Essentially, yeah. I don't think I need to say what'll happen to me if this gets out."

"Half surprised that schutta in the Senate didn't try to have you excommunicated entirely after Ziost already."

"Who says she didn't?"

Korin snorted mirthlessly. "Hated that woman from the minute I first landed on Taris, way back when." He set the datapad down and met Theron's eyes head-on. "When do I start?"

Theron blinked in surprise. "What, no bickering on the salary?" It wasn't like Theron was exactly swimming in credits despite his workaholic tendencies, but he had enough to compensate Korin modestly for this… not that he'd ever known any career criminal like Korin to be satisfied with merely 'modest'.

"For this? Revenge on Zakuul and a middle finger to Saresh?" Korin's eyes glittered maliciously. "I'd do this for _free_. All I want out of this extra is a chance to kill Maglion for what he did to my brother. Bonus points if we can figure out where the frack my father is."

"Done. You see that opportunity, you take it. I'll even help kill the bastard- not your father, obviously."

"Think we got ourselves a deal then." Korin reached across the table and shook Theron's hand.

"Good. My place at 0800 tomorrow- coordinates are on the datapad." For the first time since before Xaja was taken and Zakuul invaded, Theron felt something approaching a smile on his face- that is, if the tightening of his mouth in a grim vengeance-promising expression could be called a smile. "This sounds like the start of a wonderful partnership, Captain."

"Yeah, it'll be good workin' with ya again… for you? Whatever."

"Technicalities we can bicker about later." Theron raised a hand in farewell as Korin collected the datapad and strode out of the cantina, then turned his attention toward the bar again. Seeing his dead lover's brother made his heart hurt again in a way that no Jedi training could banish. Besides, it wasn't like Korin had never seen him hungover before…

* * *

 _Eight months later..._

"Hey, so, deal's changed a bit. I picked up a new crewmember- but he's gold, and knows his shit. And snoopy as hell, too."

Theron sighed and gave Korin a dark glare that was almost obscured by the Promenade's shadows. "Remind me why I hired you again and called you out here?"

"Because I'm damn good, that's why. Besides, you'll like this guy. Best part is that nobody knows he exists." Korin turned and waved to a tall, lanky-looking stranger in an alcove a few paces off, wearing lighter-styled Mandalorian armour and with a dark scarf wrapped around his head and face.

Something about the stride of the stranger hinted at familiarity to Theron, but he still scowled at Korin. "If you risked security for this guy, he'd better be better than _me_ at my job, and more devoted to the cause."

"Better than you? Hardly- well, not yet anyway." The stranger lowered his scarf from his face, making Theron blink in shock. The accent was changed, now more Mandalorian than Imperial, and the eyes were dark brown and lined with dark bags underneath, and the hair was longer- hell, there was even a hint of scruffy facial hair. "But how does an ex-Sith with a vengeance pact for his favourite sister sound?"

Theron stared numbly at the newcomer for a long minute. "... You're dead though," he finally said. "The Wrath-"

"-Is known for brutality and fanatical devotion to Vitiate- not necessarily toward great strategic decisions. And I had enough advance warning of his intentions from my father to be able to fake my own death and escape." Sorand Taerich shrugged and shot a quick glance around the Promenade. "Nobody knew my real name before my ascension, and nobody would recognize Darth Imperius without the mask, especially not in Mandalorian space. Lord Duathion is a completely different person from Darth Imperius, as far as anyone's concerned."

"Your wife's Mandalorian…" Theron breathed out as the pieces came together.

"And scary as hell when she wants to be. She got me adopted into her clan, and I don't even think her _alor_ was going to argue with her on that."

"I can believe it. I've met Shara." Theron frowned. "But the body they found in your apartment…"

"A particularly disrespectful Acolyte who was unlucky enough to look like me. You probably don't want to know what Revel and I did to him before leaving him as a stand-in."

"... No, you're right, I really don't." Theron shook his head and clapped Sorand's shoulder. "It's good to see you alive and intact."

"It's good to be alive and intact to watch my kids grow up." Sorand's eyes turned fond at the thought of his children. "Cuyan was born just after I fled, and Rav's just about four years old now."

"Never would have thought a Sith could be such a doting parent, right?" Korin asked Theron with a grin. Such expressions were still rare from the spacer, but they were coming more often now. The restoration of his brother had done a great deal to heal his heart after the loss of his entire family, apparently.

Sorand rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to the uncle who's on a set mission to spoil both my kids rotten." He paused and looked at the durasteel plating under the three men, sorrow tangible even to Theron. "Xaja would have loved them…"

It was a perfect segway into Theron's news. "I spoke with Lana a few days ago," he started, watching both of Xaja's brothers perk up attentively. "She's been in contact with some Zakuulans whose sympathies do not lie with Arcann." He hesitated for only a second. "Your sister might still be alive, imprisoned in the Spire. I believe the word 'carbonite' came up in our chat."

Two sets of eyes, one hazel and one brown, widened in shock and a mirror of the same renewed hope that had invaded Theron's heart the second Lana had told him that. And with that, the group of people in on the plans to rescue the Jedi prisoner from carbonite captivity doubled.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! The silliness resumes in the next chapter.**


	5. The Prank Wars (Part One)

**Back to the silliness! In which, Odessen experiences the best form of civil war, and Theron probably still has trust issues with chairs.**

* * *

It started when Theron sat down at his preferred work station in the war planning room. Or perhaps to be more accurate, it started when he tried to stand up from his chair twenty minutes later and found that he couldn't. "What the…?" he muttered as he wriggled his lower half in a vain effort to stand up.

"Havin' problems there?" Korin looked over from his own workstation and grinned cheekily as he watched his friend's plight.

"Very funny." Theron glared at the chair as he temporarily gave up on standing. "If this was you again…"

"No, I actually had nothing to do with this, believe it or not." Korin stood up with an ease that Theron currently envied and came over to investigate. "Whoever set this up knew what they were doing. Can ya move anything?"

"Limbs and fine motor movements are fine." Theron squirmed futilely. "Did something end up on the seat itself?"

"Either that or someone coated your pants with somethin'." Korin frowned, then took a sniff that was way too close to Theron's thigh for the spy to be entirely comfortable. "You haven't sat in a puddle of industrial strength glue recently, have you?"

Theron gave Korin what might be best described as a murderous death glare.

"Okay, then my professional assessment is that you may be the victim of a very well-done prank. Simple in theory, yet masterful in the execution…"

"If this was you, I swear I'm going to look up ALL of your ex-girlfriends and tell them where you are."

"It wasn't me!" Korin eyed the chair contemplatively. "But I wished it was until you made that threat. You fight dirty, Shan."

Theron sighed. "Can you get C2? I need some sort of solvent for this."

* * *

"I am so sorry, Master Theron, but there is no solution in this base that will dissolve this form of adhesive! May I bring you anything to make your stay here more comfortable?"

Theron waved off the protocol droid, then glared up at Korin, who still insisted he was innocent. "Any other ideas?"

Korin tilted his head in thought with a frown. "... How attached to those pants are you?"

Theron rolled his eyes. "Any opportunity to get me out of my pants without buying me dinner first, right?"

Korin laughed. "There are easier ways to get the pants off someone without resorting to glue. Too much risk of getting the target stuck IN their pants like that."

"So thoughtful," Theron deadpanned. "... Okay, is your sister anywhere around here? And marginally more important, is Lana or Scorpio?"

"I think everyone else is in the cantina. We hurry this up and you should be free from your pants before what's left of your dignity dies a slow painful death in front of Lana." Korin accepted Theron's blasters and belt as the spy gingerly removed them, and dodged as the spy managed to kick his boots off to safety. "Need a hand?"

"Nope," Theron growled out as he undid his pants, took a quick look around to make sure the only witnesses were the two Alliance guards (sworn to absolute silence on the threat of sanitation duty forever), and started the difficult task of wriggling his way out of his trapped pants. "I'm never taking for granted the ability to stand up again."

Korin snorted with laughter as he casually came around to stand on Theron's other side… just in case of any unfortunate souls happening to come out of the lift. "Reminding you of Onderon all over again?"

"We agreed to never speak about Onderon again, remember?"

"Was that for mission security or your dignity?"

"... Yes. Do you have something sharp on you?"

"Have you met the guy who fathered me?" Korin produced a dagger from up his sleeve with a flourish and offered it to Theron. The damn smuggler was still grinning broadly at his boss' predicament. "I still can't figure out how Dad can carry that many blades on him and not accidentally impale himself everytime he moves."

"Dark magic. It's the only possible answer." Theron sighed mournfully at his favourite pants, then made a neat slice into the fabric over his thighs. Unfortunately, the angle at which he was stuck in his chair prevented him from making the proper cuts to be able to stand up. "Dammit!"

"Here, gimme the knife." Korin accepted the blade back and made a careful go for the waistband of Theron's mauled pants.

"Mind you leave my boxers as they are this time!"

"Hey, if I 'accidentally' cut through your underwear, it would be a little something I like to call sweet, sweet revenge."

"That was an accident! Besides, the first people to walk in on us then were those two Twi'leks who apparently decided you were the best thing since hyperdrive was invented. A travesty for you, clearly."

"You jealous about that?"

Theron wisely waited until Korin was finished sawing at his trousers and the blade was gone. "Of you? Naaaah."

Korin gave Theron a deathglare when he fully registered the spy's evil grin. "You know, we could compare now…"

The sound of the lift descending changed the conversation abruptly. "Fierfek!" Theron swore as he (gratefully) stood up.

"Yeah, and it's a full lift from the sensing of it." Korin quickly angled his body between Theron and the lift. "You've got about eight seconds, so run!"

Theron did try to run for it. Unfortunately, he'd neglected to remove his feet from the ankles of his ruined pants, and wound up faceplanting on the decking with a crash that made Korin wince… and only made the occupants of the lift hurry off it that much sooner when it fully descended. "What was that noi- ACK!" Vette squeaked as she caught sight of Theron struggling to get back up and whirled around, her cheeks staining dark purple with her blush.

Xaja glanced from the startled Twi'lek back to Theron, her eyebrows raising to her hairline and what looked suspiciously like a grin twitching her lips. "Well, hello to you too, lover," she said, and oh yes Theron could hear a strained giggle in her voice. At least it was better than Gault's hoot of laughter, or the sound of Lana choking on her own breath, golden eyes bulging, or of Torian hurriedly excusing himself back into the lift to die of laughter.

"... The hell, boys?" Reanden finally asked, coming to stand beside Vette (and holding a hand over the Twi'lek's eyes in what was apparently supposed to be a comforting manner), all the while giving Theron that judgemental Imperial look of I-don't-know-what-the-hell-the-SIS-trains-their-people-to-do-but-this-is-inefficient-and-stupid-and-seriously-what-the-hell-are-you-doing that he'd mastered a long time ago.

Korin sheepishly looked over his shoulder as Theron regained his feet and picked his boots up. "... Sorry!"

There was no way Theron could try to explain this now, not while he could feel his cheeks and ears turning the same colour as his jacket, or while he could feel drafts on his cold, pale legs. "Commander," he ground out, giving Xaja a proper salute (and he tried to not glare when her hand flew up to cover her mouth as though she was desperately trying to not burst out laughing), and turning to go find a new pair of intact pants. I really hope C2's finished with the laundry by now-

"Theeeeron! Lookin' good!" Koth laughed as he walked past the agent with two of his crew (Tora mock-swooned, Lenn wolf-whistled and made a 'call me' gesture). "Commander Xaja settin' a new dress code for you?"

"Kriff a rancor, Vortena," Theron growled as the Zakuulan walked away laughing, eyebrows drawing together for a second. Something about Koth felt unusually… smug? That suspicion was confirmed when Theron checked the security holos after he'd gotten new pants on and his face back to its normal colour, and saw Koth's past self carefully add a thin layer of adhesive to the chair only minutes before Theron had unsuspectingly sat down in it. "The son of a bitch. This means _war_."

* * *

Koth apparently did not appreciate having Theron tell the greatest gossip-mongers on Odessen that he was gay, and all the subsequent love notes and propositions that came his way in the days afterward. And apparently his idea for revenge had been to cleverly hide small, high-powered speakers in the quarters that Theron shared with Xaja and set Z0-0M to play the loudest, most obnoxious cantina music that Koth could find at three in the morning. Theron was pretty sure he heard a malicious cackle through the stone walls as he gingerly picked himself off the floor where he'd quite literally fallen out of bed with the alarm.

On the other side of the bed, Xaja gave the walls and still-blaring speakers a murderous glare. "Oh, there'll be hell to pay for this now."

"They teach you about prank wars in the Temple?" Theron asked as he went to go find the speakers and disable them before the noise could burst his eardrums entirely.

Xaja gave Theron an evil grin. "Remind me to tell you about the time I managed to set off water bombs in the Council chambers as a Padawan and soaked every single one of the Council… including your mother. I'm still not sure how I didn't die after that little stunt. By the way, your mother can yell when she's mad..."

Theron managed to get the last speaker disarmed, and in the ringing silence turned back to Xaja. "Have I ever mentioned I love you?"

"Once or twice." Xaja laughed and sat back down in the bed. "Now get back here so we can plan our retaliation, now that I'm good and awake."

There was no going back to sleep after an awakening like that, anyway.

* * *

Koth stormed into the war room two days later with his hair bleached white and a murderous glare directed at anyone who gaped or snickered at him. "Shan!" he bellowed out in his best impersonation of a drill sergeant... or perhaps Shae Vizla.

Theron gave Koth his very best wide-eyed innocent look as he leaned back on his (adhesive-free) chair. "Yeah, Koth? What's up?"

"You son of a bitch. My eyebrows too?! How?!"

"Hey, don't look at me! My hands are clean in this." Theron raised his hands as evidence of his innocence.

"I know this was you!" Koth glared at the agent (who was desperately trying to not bust a gut laughing) and stormed back out of the command room, right past a broadly-smirking Senya. "Revenge shall be sweet and-"

"Nice hair, Koth. Trying out a new style?" Xaja meandered up to the Zakuulan and gave him a mischievous grin. "Hate to break it to you, but white really isn't your colour, dear." Theron was never sure if Koth's reaction was due to her laughter, or the pat on the cheek she gave him.

Koth gaped at the Jedi Commander for a long minute, shot another glare at Theron, and stormed away to a chorus of laughter behind him. "I hate you all."

Xaja grinned impishly as the Zakuulan left, then sauntered up behind Theron and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I love you."

Theron smiled and leaned backward into her touch. "What do you wanna bet he'll still blame both of us, even though that was your handiwork?"

"Hey, it was your idea, love. I just did the execution." Xaja kissed Theron's temple. "I give him two days."

"I can't believe you three are wasting time and resources on a prank war…" Lana muttered in exasperation under her breath. "Especially you, Commander!"

Lana came to work the next day with itching powder lacing her clothing and Koth, Theron, and Xaja all protesting their innocence for real this time, until Koth pointed out that Korin was quite conspicuously absent from the war room and appeared to be quietly grinning to himself when he was sighted anywhere in the base. And that was apparently all it took for Lana to relax her self-imposed standards on prank wars and go for retaliation in the form of spiking Korin's preferred Corellian ale with some sort of classified intoxicant that Theron had only heard about in Hutt Space.

Unfortunately Jorgan was the one who wound up drinking the spiked ale and spending the rest of the night dancing on the cantina tables and singing along (loudly and poorly. The Cathar was apparently completely tone-deaf.) to Mandalorian drinking songs and making Torian groan in dismay at the butchering of his language while Kaliyo took a recording that Theron suspected would be on the HoloNet within an hour.

Even more unfortunately, Jorgan mis-aimed his revenge the next morning and it was Vette who marched into the command room with bright pink clothing and a murderous glare on her face instead of Lana.

And apparently nobody could hold a prank war, or a grudge match, quite like Vette.

* * *

 **To be continued...**


	6. Captain Korin's Singalong Blog

Jedi Master Xaja Taerich, Alliance Commander, The One Who Served To Irritate Valkorion, The One With An Evident Death Wish And No Survival Instincts (or so Theron and Lana were both convinced), and Vaylin's Nemesis In Chief, was hardly the only legendary person on Odessen. Theron was, of course, the previously-unidentified Technoplague who'd been responsible for the demise of two Darths on his own (and he was so very, very fortunate Darth Marr had never discovered that while the Sith still lived, otherwise the spy probably would have met a premature and gruesome end); Lana was the former Minister of Sith Intelligence, with Reanden Taerich as the former Commander of Sith Intelligence and one-time Cipher Nine; and Sorand was the still-unknown Darth Imperius. Korin had developed his own particular reputation over his life though, and it wasn't merely limited to his favourite title of the Voidhound. His other titles, however, were regarded with a fair bit more infamy than the formal ones the Galactic Republic had bestowed upon him.

The most feared of those reputations was The Guy Who Makes Ears Bleed.

* * *

"It's the eye of the vornskr, it's the thrill of the fight!" Korin danced under the exhaust port of his personal freighter the _Dancer_ , rocking out with an air-guitar and not really caring how loud and off-key his voice was. Or maybe he did care and he was just a sadist who liked tormenting everyone within earshot. "Rising up to the challenge of our fathers!"

Theron visibly flinched as he entered the hangar bay where the higher-priority Alliance vessels were kept, including his own shuttle, Koth's newest ship (the third he'd had since Xaja had been rescued. He was keeping a running tally and constantly nagging Lana about it.), Hylo's freighter, and Reanden's sleek ship. Seeing the Mirialan smuggler hiding behind her own ship and appearing to be considering a break for safety, he made his way over to her. "How long has he been singing this time?" he asked.

"You call this singing?!" Hylo turned to give Theron a horrified look. "This sounds like a dying manka cat's final squall!"

"What'd that poor manka cat ever do to you?" Theron asked.

"I'm allergic to 'em. They seem to like me not breathin'."

"Oh. Yeah, fair enough." Shaking his head, Theron started walking to the direction of the unholy noises, already developing a headache. _Couldn't he have waited marginally longer than two days after arriving on Odessen before traumatizing all of us?..._

Korin didn't sense him coming. Or perhaps the Force-sensitive smuggler did recognize Theron's presence approaching, but chose to ignore him in favour of trying to remember the next lyrics to the song. It gave Theron the perfect cover to stoop and grab a datapad that had been left lying around. "And the last known survivors… uh, da da da da da, da da da da da da da da DAAAAAAAAA-OW! THERON!"

"Your voice carries. We can hear you in the war room, twit," Theron growled out, his annoyance with his one-time friend doing just barely enough to hide his satisfaction at having (temporarily) shut the smuggler up.

Rubbing his head where the thrown datapad had hit him, Korin gave Theron a mutinous glare. "It's not that bad. Have you heard my brother try to sing?"

"You've already made Koth crumple up in fetal position and start confessing to things that would make Arcann blush."

"... Like what?" Korin looked way too interested for Theron's own ease of mind.

"Like stuff you're not gonna get to hear about if you don't shut up. Next person to come down and tell you to button it will probably be Lana, and she's not into dying-rancor-noises."

"... I am thoroughly offended, Shan."

"And I currently wish I was thoroughly deafened." Theron started making his way out of the hangar, noting that Hylo had taken her chance to escape. "Would it kill you to take maybe one or two singing lessons if you insist on tormenting the rest of us?"

"I'm allergic to education. Fatally so. I'd wither up and die and then you'd feel guilty for the rest of your life."

"Could I be so lucky?"

"Hey!"

* * *

Korin's revenge was apparently to sing at every conceivable chance he got whenever Theron was within earshot, no matter that he was usually making Xaja suffer with him. One would have thought that the smuggler loved his sister enough to at least spare her this form of torture...

* * *

"Utinni Jean's not my lover! She's just a droid that I used to loooooove, but the Jawa's not my sooooon!" Korin was dancing again, and Theron honestly wasn't sure which was worse- the auditory torture, or the visual to accompany it.

Beside Theron, Gault stared in what might be best described as mute horror, an expression that didn't normally show itself on his red, gaunt face. "... Those lyrics make no sense," he muttered.

Theron tried to bury his face in his hands as if to hide the fact that he'd ever met Korin Taerich before in his life. "And he wonders why Blizz keeps stealing all his stuff. It's revenge for a cultural insult."

"I can believe it. Hell, I can sing better than this!"

Gault was completely tone-deaf, and Theron was still inclined to agree with him.

* * *

"Sheeeee's my muja pie! Cool drink a' water, such a sweet surprise!"

Kaliyo shot a grin at Reanden, whose stoic-agent mask had crumpled like wet flimsi as he tried to hide his face in his folded arms. "Aren't you a proud dad now?"

"This comes from his mother's side," Reanden vehemently growled. "Not mine. His mother's."

"How come I remember you singing like this way back twenty-odd years a-OW! DAD!" Sorand scowled as his father cuffed him upside the back of his head, ignoring Kaliyo's snicker and Theron biting his lip to keep from laughing as Xaja facepalmed.

"You're delusional, kid. I don't sing." Reanden gave his younger son a flat glare. "This is your mother's genes."

Behind Reanden's back, Kaliyo pointedly shook her head in contradiction to what the older agent said, and then immediately gave her best (and very poor) attempt at an innocent expression as Reanden whirled back around to fix her with a dark scowl, bravely ignoring Korin's mangling of a song that used to be one of Theron's personal favourites.

"... Tastes so good, bring a tear to your eye, sweet muja piiiiiie!"

* * *

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasyyyy?"

Xaja groaned audibly and thunked her forehead down on the planning table as Korin's voice drifted up into the war room again. "Caught in a sonar attack, no escape from reality…" she muttered under her breath in time to the actual lyrics, just loud enough to make Lana snort in agreement.

"I used to like this song before your brother started mutilating it," Jorgan complained as he rubbed at one pointed ear. "Commander, can I request an immediate transfer back to Zakuul?"

"Request denied, Major. You and Kaliyo are still on probation." Xaja paused and gave the Cathar a raised eyebrow. "And if I have to suffer this, so do you."

Jorgan groaned, gave the Commander a scowl, and marched off, probably to go yell at another bunch of recruits in the military wing.

Theron shook his head and settled back into his seat, trying to ignore Korin's voice tormenting his ears and their enhancing implants. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Xaja pull a pair of old-styled headphones out from her jacket pocket and slide them over her ears, and felt a brief moment of self-berating idiocy for not having thought of such a coping mechanism before.

Then Xaja pulled the headphones back off and made some noise that most absolutely was _not_ a whine. "Damn it!"

"What?" Theron asked, his forehead creasing in equal parts confusion and worry.

"That noise coming up the hallway is the only thing that's making Valkorion shut up. As soon as I try to drown it out with better music I start getting nagged at again!" Xaja slumped in her seat, looking as defeated as Theron had ever seen her. "I can't kriffing win!"

"I'm sorry, love." Theron stood up to come behind Xaja's chair and rub her shoulders soothingly. "Maybe we can find a way to weaponize your brother's voice to target only the ghostly kriffer and leave you unharmed?"

Xaja opened her mouth to say something, but was halted by Korin's voice, rising in a threatening crescendo that was already making Theron's implant-enhanced ears hurt. "The Sithly ghosts have a devil put aside for meeee, for meeeee, for _MEEEEEEEE!_ "

"Owwwww," Theron groaned as his skull threatened to split apart with the noise that he previously would never have suspected a human of being able to make. "I'm pretty sure we could make even Vaylin surrender with that."

Xaja gritted her teeth and leaned back into Theron's hands. "Probably. I think I just heard Valkorion whimper."

* * *

What made the entire thing worse was that Korin _could_ actually sing well when he had a mind to do so. Theron decided the smuggler was lulling Arcann into a false sense of security when, the day after the former Emperor's defection to Odessen, the spy heard a surprisingly-melodic voice drifting up from Dr. Oggurobb's lab. "Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk to you again..."

Arcann, who'd been with Theron on the orientation tour of the base (never minding Theron's dark distrustful looks directed at the back of the other man's head), tilted his non-damaged ear as though to catch the sound better. "Is that Captain Taerich- the commander's brother? He has quite a nice-sounding voice."

"Don't let him fool you," Theron muttered. "That guy's responsible for driving ninety percent of all the recorded cases of base insanity."

"With a voice like that? Hardly." Arcann curiously looked back at Theron, who'd managed to school his face back into a neutral expression just in time. "What was the other ten percent?"

"Scorpio, the Jawas stealing everything not nailed down, or dealing with the Commander's pet rakghoul."

Arcann's eyes bulged. "I beg your pardon- the Commander's pet _what_?"

"You heard me. Seriously, don't piss off Scritchy. Commander Xaja is _his_ person." Theron suspected that Dr. Lokin was still quite jealous about the fact that his pet rakghoul apparently loved Xaja more. While Theron himself put up with the walking virus, he put his foot down over allowing the creature into their shared quarters _ever_. Maybe that was why the rakghoul didn't like Theron very much…

Korin's voice drifted up the hallway as Theron and Arcann continued the tour. "Fool, said I, you do not know, silence like a cancer grows..."

* * *

It couldn't have lasted.

And Korin picked the single most inappropriate song he could have thought of for the Alliance's final, desperate push to Zakuul through the uncontrolled Eternal Fleet's fire. The entirety of the command staff stood in the bridge of the Gravestone, grimly watching the slaughter raging as Koth prepped the ship to blast through the blockade. Theron felt Xaja pressed up against him under his arm, and squeezed her slim, over-burdened shoulders as he felt her shaking. He stooped to kiss her forehead, earning a tight, strained, pain-filled attempt at a smile as she looked back up at him, and opened his mouth to say something encouraging-

"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fiiiiiiine!"

Xaja's eyes flew open with what Theron felt could be best described as 'murderous intent' as Korin went right on, ignoring Lana's loud groan, Koth's frustrated "For kriff's sake!", or how Arcann's jaw dropped as he realized just what Theron had meant by Korin's inability to sing. "That's right it starts with an earthquake, birds snakes and fleet blockades, Lenny Bruce is not afraiiiiiid…." And then Korin went off into a long tangent of lyrics sung way too fast for Theron to keep up with, and how the smuggler could keep them all straight while singing at the top of his lungs was a mystery.

Theron decided he didn't really want to solve that little mystery as he let go of Xaja long enough to finally punch Korin in the stomach like he'd had an urge to do ever since the smuggler had first broke into a rousing chorus of " _Under the sea! Under the seeeeeaaaa!_ " on Manaan all those years ago. And thus it was that Korin doubled over with a pained wheeze mid-chorus and Theron earned grateful applause from the rest of the bridge's occupants.

"... Didn't he start singing that on Ziost, too?" Lana asked as she gave Korin a glare.

"Yep," Theron growled. "About two hours before Vitiate destroyed the planet entirely."

"How was I to know my comedic efforts were going to be morbidly ironic?!"

Xaja sighed and gave her brother a murderous look, earning a sheepish (and still pained) smile back. "I swear to the Force, if you jinxed this entire mission and I get killed as a result, I'm going to come back and haunt you forever."

Korin glanced around at the looks he was getting from every other person on the bridge, cheerfully crowed out "Worth it!" and immediately fled before Theron could punch him again.

* * *

 **Songs mangled: "Eye Of The Tiger" by Survivor, "Billie Jean" by Michael Jackson, "Cherry Pie" by Warrant, "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen, "Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel (although I had the Disturbed cover playing while writing this. You all should listen to it. It's beautiful.), and "End Of The World" by Great Big Sea. And I regret nothing.**

 **Also, as a fun fact, Korin in my head has always looked and acted like Dean Winchester from Supernatural. This little mangling was partially inspired by that one clip of Jensen Ackles airbanding to "Eye of the Tiger". If you haven't watched that, you're missing out on something glorious.**

 **Also also, I'm currently on four hours of sleep and have been awake for nineteen hours at this stage. I offer apologies for that ending that I'm too damned tired to fix. I might go back and edit later.**

 **More shenanigans later!**


	7. After-Effects

**Set sometime between picking up Torian into the Alliance and the attack on the Eternal Fleet ship.**

* * *

The hard chair that Theron currently occupied dug into his sore body, no matter how he tried to sit in it. He had a running theory that all medical facilities provided the most uncomfortable chairs possible, purely to determine the extent of a patient's fatigue or injury- clearly, only those most desperate for a seat would rest in such a torture contraption. Theron hadn't even thought his injuries were that bad (he'd had worse than a broken hand, a mild concussion, and a pile of bruises decorating the entire right side of his body before), but apparently the after-effects of being caught in a particularly sadistic Sith's wave of Force Lightning was draining on a body's energy. And that wasn't even taking into account his damaged implants.

Considering some of the other injuries borne by patients in this facility, Theron was well off. He was lucky he'd only been electrocuted and thrown around some, and that the Sith who'd caught him had wanted to prolong the torture instead of killing him quickly. If the lightning had been any more intense, he most certainly wouldn't be conscious now, and stood a risk of being dead from his wounds.

Weary hazel eyes looked to the kolto tank he was slouched beside, eyeing the limp, floating figure within again. Yes, Theron was lucky indeed. Xaja Taerich was less fortunate.

* * *

 _Twenty-seven standard hours earlier…_

"Team Aurek has reached the objective," Xaja said into her comm as she stood guard in the server room of a Zakuulan outpost on Onderon, letting Theron and Lana begin their work in slicing into the secure files. This was apparently a secure transmission centre for the Zakuulans in the Outer Rim, which made it a target for the Alliance. "Beginning the data transmissions now."

"Copy that," came Korin's crackled answer into his earpiece. "We've managed to bottleneck the Skytroopers and they'll be a while getting to your position. You should have lots of time."

"Team Cresh is picking up some activity outside the building," Vette suddenly said, presumably still at her post of a lookout, playing spotter for Reanden and Torian, two of the best snipers in the group. "We can't see from this angle, but there might be reinforcements arriving for the Zaks."

Theron looked up from the console he was typing into, meeting Xaja's eyes as he answered back into his own comm. "Keep us posted. If it's Knights, we'll need Team Besh to intercept."

A heavy sigh, before Sorand responded to the channel. "On it. But Aurek, you might want to hurry it up some. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"It's not a small datafile we're sending to the shuttle," Lana grumbled beside Theron. "We're going to need these files if we're going to ever understand the Spire's communications systems. As long as it's not Vaylin herself, we'll be fine."

* * *

Theron stretched in the hard duraplast chair, his vertebrae popping with the motion. Why hadn't they all paid more attention to Sorand's ominous feelings?

The ex-Sith in question limped into the room, looking otherwise normal if one ignored the arm he had in a sling and the terrible dark bruises on his throat. Force-healing only went so far when healing a dislocated shoulder. "How's the head?" he croaked at Theron, sounding like he'd had his throat recently crushed and only barely restored to somewhat-operational capacity, which wasn't far off from the truth.

"Hurts, but my hand's worse." Ignoring the spurt of pain that movement caused him, Theron raised his undamaged left hand, his fingers trembling but not violently twitching like they had been not long before. "Look, I'm not twitchy anymore."

"Not more than usual." Sorand gingerly sat down in the next chair and gave the kolto tank a worried look. "How is she?"

Theron looked back at the tank and its lone occupant. "No change. She's been stable since they got her heart going again." Some part of him said it was good news, that she hadn't flatlined (again) and left him here alone, but on the other hand she was in there and she wasn't out with him and conscious and shaking her head at his worry for her. Trying to get his mind off of his concern and the fear that lingered in his chest, the spy looked back at the man who should have been his worst fear in another life, but now was something of a comrade or a friend, almost a brother. "Should you be talking?"

Sorand shrugged his good shoulder. "Probably not," he whispered as he settled in, trying to not wince as he bumped his arm and almost succeeding. Brown eyes glanced back to Theron. "Rest," croaked the younger man. "I'll watch over her."

Theron shook his head and valiantly ignored the vertigo that motion caused. "Can't sleep, not with her like this." He'd already stubbornly resisted any attempts to remove him from his post beside the tank, and had only let himself be treated for his wounds in here. He wasn't going to do anything that would risk him not being here for her if she woke up and needed him… or if she never woke up again. The last time he'd fallen asleep, he'd woken up to alarms and medical droids shoving him out of the way as they'd fought to stabilize her.

Apparently Sorand didn't have the will or the vocal capacity to argue the point with Theron, as he silently joined the spy in his vigil over the woman who connected them both.

* * *

"Transmission is at sixty-seven percent," Theron updated the team as he studied the transponder he'd hotwired into the console. A device of his and Dr. Oggurobb's design, the machine was programmed to transmit securely straight to an onboard computer on his own shuttle that Koth was currently waiting in as the escape pilot. This was the machine's first major test in an operation like this, and so far Theron was pleased with the results.

Xaja was less so. "Can your next prototype be faster?" the Jedi asked as she paced behind Theron, checking on the transmission status herself, then resumed walking around the console. "I feel like we're in more danger the longer we sit here."

"Cresh would have let us know if there were Knights trying to break in," Theron reassured the Jedi with a hand on her arm. _Sixty-nine percent._ "We should be okay for how long it'll take to get the rest of this transmitted."

"Assuming they haven't been all killed in a strike while we've been in here," Lana grouchily added, ignoring Theron's glare to the back of her blonde head.

The comms cracked. "That's a negative, Lana," Korin said, laughter in his voice. "You'd have heard it anyway."

"Heard what? A strike or you trying to sing them all to death?"

"Guys-" Vette's voice interrupted the bickering with a note of fear that dropped the smirk from Theron's lips instantaneously. "We got trouble."

"Like what?" Xaja demanded, suddenly all business and combat-readiness. "Knights? Arcann or Vaylin?"

"No…" Vette said, and she sounded as terrified as Theron had ever heard her before. "It's… it's the Wrath. Maglion is here."

Theron felt his heart sink into his stomach. The quite-likely-insane Emperor's Wrath was one of the three worst people in the galaxy for Xaja Taerich to ever meet- and the Sith in question had a grudge match out for her family as well, simply because they were all Imperial-born traitors who'd worked to bring down Vitiate. By extension, the man would be going after Lana for that same reason, and Vette because she'd been his slave before Reanden had somehow arranged for her escape and freedom. And then Theron was doomed simply for being a Republic agent, even before taking into consideration who his parents were, and Torian was guilty of treason by association.

The fact that Maglion Taerich was Reanden Taerich's younger brother only made the entire situation worse.

Lana jerked her head up from the display she'd been watching, her already-pale face now a worrying shade of white. "Is his apprentice with him?" she grit out through clenched teeth.

"We can't tell if she is, but that doesn't mean anything. Xalia can stealth anywhere." Reanden had replaced Vette on the comms, and he sounded as scared as the Twi'lek did. "Drop what you're doing and get the hell out of there, _now_. We need to run."

Theron knew how much of a terrifying reputation Maglion had, not to mention what his psychotic little assassin of an apprentice, Xalia, had achieved all on her own. That knowledge didn't stop him from glancing down at the transponder longingly, willing the numbers on the screen to rise faster. _Seventy-four percent…_

"We can't collect any more data from here," Xaja finally said as she moved to stand directly in front of Theron, eyes wide with fear but still commanding. "Grab the transponder and let's go. We'll have to make do with what we've got."

"I pull the transponder now, we risk losing all the intel we've just gained," Theron protested. "Is there a way to buy me time to-"

"Theron." That wasn't the loving way she normally spoke to him, that was the I-am-your-commander-and-I'm-giving-you-a-direct-order voice. "Abort the mission. We need to go now."

With a muttered curse, Theron grabbed the transponder, watching the number on the screen (seventy-five) go dark as he shoved the device in his jacket pocket. "All right, let's move. Korin, Sorand, Shara, what's your location?"

"Heading for the side exit," Sorand answered back over the comms. "You three take the back."

"We'll watch from here and let you know where he goes," Torian piped up. "Hopefully Koth can get a rescue in to- _watch out!_ " The sound of a terrible crash filled the comms, and when it passed, there was silence.

"Cresh, come in," Xaja snapped into her own comm. When she received no answer, she tried again, her face draining of colour. "Cresh, do you copy? Dad? Torian? Vette?"

"We can't do anything for them in here," Lana finally said, grabbing Xaja's arm and trying to hide just how scared she was as well. "We need to get out of here before Maglion tracks us all down. Move!"

* * *

Soft voices roused Theron out of the doze he'd fallen into. It was a well-trained spy's instinct that kept him still while he quickly woke up, listening to identify who was near him and the subject of conversation. That was Sorand's voice, and there- Shara's with him, her tones softer and accented differently than her husband's. "... healers say he'll be okay, he's just got new burns and a head injury to recover from. The _di'kut_ 's dealt with those enough that he'll be fine in the long run, right?"

"What's a few more lost brain cells?" Sorand's voice was lower and gentler than Theron had ever heard him speak before. The ex-Sith still sounded hoarse, but it had improved some. "How are you feeling?"

"Me? I'm not the one who got into a duel with the kriffin' Wrath of all people." There was a pause. "I'm also not the one who didn't wear their _beskar'gam_ again, Sor'ika…"

"I got choked and thrown around, and wearing the full kit wouldn't have helped!" Sorand protested.

"Yeah, I know, _cyar'ika_. I just... " There was a heavy sigh and the rustle of fabric. "I worry about you lot."

"I know, love. I'm worried too."

Another long pause before Shara spoke again. "How's he holdin' up?"

"He got to enjoy a few moments of being Xalia's plaything. I don't know how he was conscious earlier."

"How'd he get outta there alive?"

"She saved him."

"After what that _dar'jetii_ did to her? Your sister's a walkin' miracle, ya know."

"Oh, believe me, I know."

 _And she needs a miracle of her own,_ Theron mused as he cracked one eye open to confirm the current status of the tank and its occupant before he settled back down, trying to not disturb Shara and Sorand's conversation.

* * *

Disaster struck only minutes after Team Aurek had run from the control room. As it turned out, Maglion wasn't the immediate concern for the three- Maglion wasn't the one who leaped out of thin air to Force-throw the team in three separate directions with a cackle and the ignition of two ends of a saber-staff. "Traitors and cripples!" screeched Lord Xalia, her golden eyes glinting in the darkness. "My blades deserve better blood than yours!"

Xaja was the first to regain her feet, twin blue lightsabers lighting in a challenge to Xalia's weapon. Behind the Sith, Lana's single red lightsaber lit the air around her. Knowing he was outmatched here, Theron rolled to a standing position and raced for cover behind a crate. He hadn't moved too soon, because he felt the air electrify only inches away from him as he dived for the protection of the storage unit. Xaja had barely waited to confirm Theron wasn't dead before she was flying through the air at Xalia, blades first. The Sith turned back to meet her Jedi target and grinned maliciously.

All Theron could do was hide and watch the fight. With Lana and Xaja both fighting Xalia, the risk of him accidentally hitting one of the other two women with a dart or a bolt was too high, and he certainly lacked any of the melee combat skills that the Force-users wielded. So he waited, and silently cheered when, for a few seconds, it looked as if Xalia was near defeat.

That was before the assassin got a kick in that made Xaja stumble backward and sent Lana flying again on a wave of lightning. Lana screamed once, then struck the far wall hard, and Theron couldn't tell if she was unconscious on impact or if the crate he'd been hiding behind, suddenly moved and thrown hard at the blonde, was the reason why she didn't move.

Xaja swore loudly as she regained her footing and jumped back at Xalia. "Get to Lana!" she shouted over the sounds of battle, although Theron was already in motion, moving to his fallen one-time rival as quickly as he dared. Lana stirred weakly as the spy dropped to one knee over her.

"Hold still," Theron hissed as his implants picked up Lana's vital signs. _Probably broke a few ribs getting thrown like that. Lot of bruising. Nasty concussion. We get out of here to a medical facility and she'll be fine._ "Can you move anything?" he asked as her eyes flickered open, her face tight with pain.

Lana groaned, but managed to shift her arm and foot. "Can't move my left arm," she gasped out, her eyes squeezing shut again as she tried to fight the pain off. "It must be broken."

Theron leaned over to examine the limb in question, and winced. "Yeah, it's bad. Good news is, nothing vital's hit."

"Wonderful," Lana groaned. "Xalia?"

"She's still fighting Xaja-" The clink of metal on the plating interrupted Theron as he watched a too-familiar lightsaber hilt go rolling past him. Xaja had lost her offhand weapon to a clever move of Xalia's, but wasn't out of the fight yet, switching to what Theron recognized as the Juyo form- a ferocious, purely-aggressive form that most typical Jedi wouldn't have trained as a preferred style. It was one more typically seen in Sith or Dark Jedi.

Xalia's eyes widened as she was forced to defend from Xaja's sudden onslaught, and for a second Theron thought that the victory would be the Jedi's. But then Xaja stumbled on something, and her guard slipped for a fraction of a second, but that was enough for the assassin.

Theron heard a voice screaming " _NO!_ " as one of the red blades pierced Xaja through the stomach, the Jedi's movements ceasing as the plasma shot out in a neat crimson line from her back, her face frozen in a horrified, pain-filled expression. Some part of his brain registered that he was the one screaming, and that Xaja wasn't even making a sound as her remaining lightsaber fell from her fingers, clattering away as her blue blade winked out of existence. Xalia withdrew the blade and smiled cruelly as the Jedi fell to her knees, then collapsed entirely and didn't move. _No, not her, anybody but her, please…_

He wasn't fully aware that he was moving until he'd raised his right arm, ignoring Lana's shout of "Theron, _no!_ " behind him. His focus was vengeance. How dare this psychopath of a Sith take Xaja from him after he'd lost her already! "Toxicity ten!" he snarled as he aimed his arm at Xalia, his fist clenching as the toxic dart fired from his wrist gauntlet.

Xalia stepped aside like she'd dodged an insect, and raised a hand as if in boredom. Theron recognized his strategic mistake as the lightning hit him hard, and for what felt like an eternity the pain in his heart was matched by the agony on every single nerve ending in his body. He thought he was screaming in pain, but he couldn't tell until the lightning stopped, replaced by the feeling of a hand and long, cruel nails grabbing his shirt. "Awww, poor little crippled spy," Xalia cooed mockingly. "You cared about my cousin, didn't you?" She giggled. "Stupid, poor little man." She released Theron, but he didn't have time to try and process his next move before the lightning hit him again.

This time he knew he'd screamed, just by the ache in his throat when the lightning finally ceased. "Hmm. What am I gonna do with the crippled little spy who can't even feel my cousin die?" Xalia tapped her deactivated lightsaber hilt against her lips in thought as she paced. "Maybe I should let you live, so that every time you breathe it'll hurt when you remember she's dead." Her pacing brought her to tread painfully on Theron's right hand, taking the time to grind her heels firmly down on him- the spy cried out as he felt more than heard the snap of breaking bones in his fingers. "Ooops, clumsy me!" Xalia giggled. "But see, the other side is that torturing you like this is so much more fun!" She stepped off of Theron's broken fingers and turned back to look at him. "So really, what would be better- torturing you to death now, or letting you suffer forever?"

Theron groaned, but when he looked up at Xalia, it was with pure hatred. "Toxicity nine," he whispered, and clenched his damaged hand as best as he could. The dart shot out silently, only to be neatly sidestepped again.

"How rude." Xalia raised her hand again and grinned maliciously. "But thank you for making up my mind, cripple spy. I do so love hearing a good scream…"

And Theron had no choice but to oblige her as the lightning raced through his body again. Some absent part of his mind whispered statistics and facts to him as he writhed among the streams of blue-white electricity. _Sustained shocks like this can produce permanent damage to a target's nervous system, if the victim doesn't die. Prolonged exposure can result in permanent damage to a target's lungs or heart. This is gonna fry my implants_ -

The lightning ceased, and he was thrown through the air, landing hard on his back. Stars swam over his vision as he struck his head on the wall, fumbling left-handed for his blaster, determined to not die without a fight. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lana struggling back to her knees, holding her broken left arm against her chest, but more importantly he could see Xalia approaching him, re-igniting her saber-staff as she did. _I'll see you soon, Xaja_ , he thought as he raised his uninjured hand, some little part of his mind wondering what his parents were going to do when they received the news of his death here on-

A blue beam pierced Xalia from behind, exiting from where her cold and twisted heart once beat. Looking around the mortally-wounded Sith, Theron felt his heart leap when he saw Xaja rolled onto her stomach, one trembling hand raised in Xalia's direction, still holding her Force-thrown lightsaber in place. She looked away from her kill, met Theron's eyes, and managed to give him one final, weak smile.

Then she collapsed, her lightsaber falling with the rest of her body, the blade deactivating as the weapon left Xalia and rolled away. Xalia stayed upright for only a fraction of a second longer, the mad yellow light leaving her eyes as she fell in a heap, her last breath rattling out of her mouth.

Adrenaline alone got Theron first to his knees, then to his feet, lurching to where Xaja lay motionless, his limbs helplessly twitching from the remainder of the electicity he'd just suffered with every other step. He was just aware of Lana struggling up somewhere to his right as he fell beside the Jedi. "Xaja... " he whispered as he pressed his fingers to her throat, his voice hoarse both from the grief he was trying to hold back and the screams he'd made only minutes before. "Please, no, don't leave me here like this…"

"Is she-?" Lana finally made it to the fallen Commander, and only now Theron could see the blood matting her blonde hair and the fear in her eyes. "She can't be… we need to get her out of here, Theron. We… we can't leave her like this." That was so unlike the ruthlessly-pragmatic Sith that Theron almost looked away from Xaja to see her- if he had, he would have seen one tear fall down her pale cheek.

The spy leaned forward to press his forehead against Xaja's still-warm temple, feeling his own tears build in his eyes and fall to meet her skin. "Please, don't leave me. I need you." He moved to press his lips against her skin, then froze, his fingers shifting on her throat as he fought the lingering twitches his electricity-abused body was still giving off. That was a pulse- a weak and fluttering one, but still there. "... Lana."

The Sith's breath came in a gasp that wasn't all pain. "She's still alive? Can you carry her?"

"Can, or I'll die trying." Gritting his teeth against the pain from his damaged hand and sore body, Theron slid his arms under Xaja's shoulders and knees. The wounded Jedi's face tensed for a second with pain, but she didn't stir otherwise. "You able to move at all?"

"I'm not as hurt as she is." Lana had to use the wall to stand back up, but she'd managed it, despite wavering back and forth, her entire body shaking like a leaf. "Koth," she said into her comm, "are you still there?"

"What the hell's going on down there?!" Koth's frantic voice echoed in Theron's ears. "Last I heard was something about Sith and then all of you went silent!"

"The Commander's hurt. We need med-evac now." Lana groaned as her body reminded her of her own substantial injuries. "I don't know what the status is of the other teams-"

Blaster fire sounded, and the far door slid open. Torian gasped as he hurried to Xaja's other side, returning his blaster to his back; the Mandalorian's face was pale and marred by blood and new bruises, but he was in a far better condition than anyone else currently present. " _Fierfek_ \- Vette!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Get in here and help Lana! Team Aurek's all got it bad!"

* * *

Theron's eyes flashed open as the vision of Xaja falling in front of him again, impaled by the blood-red lightsaber, haunted his memory. For a moment, he was proud of himself for not gasping, and then his hand started throbbing as he bumped it against the arm of the chair and holy _hell_ that hurt-

"Easy, son." A surprisingly gentle hand rested on Theron's arm to guide him upward, and it took a second for the disoriented spy to recognize Reanden standing over him. The older man sported a bandage over his temple, an impressive black eye, and thoroughly scraped-up skin on his hands and arms that Theron could see, but he'd come out of the encounter remarkably lucky. Not many people could say they'd shot the Emperor's Wrath and lived to tell the tale. "You're all right. You're still in the medical facility."

Trying to not act embarrassed over his display of panic, Theron nodded as he slowly stood up, waiting for the dizziness to pass before moving his head around. "What's the latest?"

"Xaja will be in kolto for another day at least. Korin's out of the tank, but the medics tell me he'll be unconscious for hours yet. Sorand and Shara are with him. Lana's been up and walking around, but she's pretty much living off painkillers right now." Reanden gave Theron a worried look. "I'm half surprised you're not, too."

"Didn't want to be out in case…" Theron looked back at the kolto tank.

"Theron, you got lightning-tortured by a psychopath and nearly died for it. She'd be worried about you if she knew you were doing this." Theron felt a pair of hands settle on his shoulders. "I got one of the droids to bring in a cot for you, since we both know you're not leaving. Go use it."

"You're not at a hundred percent either," Theron argued. "You're the one who got thrown from a platform and got hit by shrapnel. And didn't you just shoot your own brother?"

"To save my sons!" Reanden turned away for a moment, and Theron regretted his short-tempered words when he saw the older agent's shoulders tense under his jacket. But when Reanden spoke again, his voice was level. "Yes, I killed him. But he ceased to be my brother years ago. The son of a bitch arranged for my wife to die, and tried to kill both of my sons. He deserved to die."

Theron wearily lowered his head as he went through what he'd been told on the shuttle flight to the medics, Koth piloting like a madman and Vette bringing the spy up to speed as she'd tried to help him patch up the injured and dying. Maglion had been the one to trigger the collapse of the hidden platform that Team Cresh had been watching from, and then had immediately gone to hunt down Darth Imperius' Force-signature, letting his apprentice and daughter Xalia sneak in to kill Xaja. The Wrath hadn't needed stealth to take down Sorand's team- he'd just been able to overwhelm them, sending Shara flying and nearly crushing Korin to death with the Force. Sorand had barely managed to save his brother's life by fighting against his uncle and keeping the older Sith's attention away from the smuggler or the bounty hunter. But even then, Sorand had been disarmed, and had been held by the throat with the Force at Maglion's hand, slowly dying until Reanden rounded the corner and managed to get the fatal shot off before Maglion could react.

Yes, Maglion Taerich had deserved death. But his had come from a lucky chance and his brother's ruthlessness. "I'm sorry," Theron finally said. "He was a murderer and a lunatic, but he was your brother."

"He used to be. My little brother died when he was sent to Korriban- what came back in his place was a monster." Reanden took a deep breath. "And I don't regret choosing to save my children over him. I'd make the same choice again." He looked back at Theron, and for a second the younger man saw deep pain in the older spy's gaze, and a tight attempt at a reassuring smile. "I made the right decision. I'll be all right- I mourned my brother years ago. He just took forty years to die fully." He turned back around and rested a hand on Theron's shoulder. "Rest, Theron. I'll keep watch."

Theron let himself be finally guided to the cot against the far wall, still within easy view of the kolto tank that Xaja floated in. "You sure you don't need rest?" he mumbled.

Reanden bitterly snorted. "Like hell I'm going to sleep. They need me." He gestured in the general direction of Xaja fighting for her life, and toward the door through which Korin was still slowly recovering. "I'll wake you if anything changes."

Too weary to argue, Theron settled in on the cot, feeling his pain and fatigue rapidly overpowering his desire to stay awake. His last image was of Reanden taking the spot he'd just vacated, stretching out his legs, and making himself as comfortable as he could for his vigil. _Come back, Xaja. We've already lost you once, and now there's even more riding on you. I miss you._

* * *

The flight to the nearest medical facility was only eight minutes, yet to Theron it felt like forever. Unable to really do anything to patch up any of the injured with his muscles spasming every few seconds and his broken fingers swelling up to the point of uselessness, he'd been unceremoniously pushed into a chair and ordered to sit still.

He felt like he'd gotten off far too easily, compared to the rest of the team. Lana occupied the next seat over, gritting her teeth against the pain of her broken arm and ribs. Sorand, while he was up and moving, was limping and communicating in whispers when he could speak- the Force-choking had nearly killed him, his power over the Dark Side notwithstanding. Shara was moving stiffly under her beskar'gam, but it didn't stop her from frantically working on her brother-in-law with Vette's help. Korin was in just as bad a state as his sister- while Maglion's lightsaber hadn't hit him, he'd still been the recipient of Force-crushing, and it had been moments away from killing him. Theron hadn't yet decided what the worse way to die was- impalement or Force-crushing. Looking at Reanden, who'd been working with Torian to at least keep Xaja alive until they reached help, Theron had to marvel that the older agent hadn't had a complete mental breakdown yet with the knowledge that two of his children were quite likely dyin- no, Theron was _not_ going to entertain that thought, because the Taerich survival rate was exceptionally high, and both Xaja and Korin were too damn stubborn to die like this.

The shuttle bumped as it landed, and in the next second Torian was already carefully picking Xaja up, the tiny Jedi not a great burden to the Mandalorian, injured as he was. Koth came tearing out of the cockpit to help Reanden lift Korin up. "I called ahead to warn 'em of incoming injured. Vette, run out an' let 'em know that-"

"On it!" Vette was down the ramp before it had fully descended and ran like Vaylin herself was after her to the medical facility. Torian wasn't far behind the Twi'lek, running as fast as he could move without jarring Xaja's wounds further.

Theron started to get up to follow the Mandalorian and his precious burden, but then the shuttle started spinning dangerously and he found himself being pushed back down. "Take it easy, spy-boy," Shara said as she gripped his shoulder. "You ain't gonna do her any sort of good if you die doin' something stupid. 'Sides, you look like you got a hell of a smack upside the head a few times in there."

"You don't look much better," Theron grunted as he started getting back up (slower this time). For all that Shara swore by _beskar'gam_ , it hadn't really helped her when Maglion had thrown her like a rag doll across the corridor, although it had saved her from the pipe that had been thrown at her a second later. Despite her bruises, she was in a far better state than most of the rest of the team.

"I was a low-priority target." Shara sounded like she wasn't sure if she was offended by that or relieved. Hauling Theron's uninjured arm over her shoulders, the Mandalorian woman started making her way to the ramp as Koth and Reanden disappeared with Korin. "You sure you're okay, Sor'ika?"

"Fine," croaked the ex-Sith as he started helping Lana up. "I can still walk well enough."

"That's debatable," Lana hissed as she was propped up against the taller Sith's arm. "You're hardly in a fit state to do much of anything."

"Pots and kettles," Sorand wheezed. "'s an old metapho-" He suddenly gasped, dropping Lana to the floor of the shuttle and earning a yelp from the blonde. "Xaja!"

Theron's heart stopped in his chest. "What?!" he demanded as he started to push away from Shara and hobble faster to the ramp. "What is it?"

Sorand didn't answer with anything but a white face and a horrified look to the exit of the shuttle. Ignoring Shara's sharp curses, Theron staggered to the hull and looked out, and nearly cried out when he saw a small army of medical personnel gathered around one of the two stretchers being moved to the building. Korin lay relatively unattended, face pale and bruised and far more solemn in his coma than he normally looked, but he wasn't the source of the current commotion. Theron's fears were confirmed when the breeze brought words back to his ears. "... the defibrillator over here, now! We're losing her!"

A defibrillator. Her heart had stopped beating. Theron fell to his knees as the blood drained from his face, unable to register Shara behind him as the bounty hunter tried to make him look away. "Theron... you don't wanna watch this," the Mandalorian said over the sound of Theron's pulse roaring in his ears, sounding more worried and uncertain than he'd ever heard her before. "Neither do you, Sor'ika. She... awww, blast it, not like this, _jetii_!"

He should have looked away. But he couldn't tear his eyes from the scene as another medic came running to the scene with the crate containing the de-fib unit, and the flurry of activity increased as the medics set to work on their dying patient. Some part of him saw Reanden fall to his knees, Koth's hand on his shoulder, and Vette turning to hold onto Torian's arm with a deathgrip apparent even at this distance. A medic shouted "Clear!" and Xaja's body jerked on the stretcher. The frenzy slowed for a second, then picked right up to its fervered urgency- it hadn't worked. Another shout, another sickening jolt into the tiny redhead's body, and then Theron heard the faint "Got it! Let's move, people!"

The spy sagged as the Jedi was rushed out of his vision, the wounded smuggler right behind her. _Please, let her live..._

* * *

It was another day before Xaja could be safely moved from the medical facility and onto the shuttle. The medical droid had argued against it, but Reanden's sense of paranoia overruled anything the droid could counter with. The best place for the wounded Alliance Commander wasn't in a dangerous area of neutral space- it was back on Odessen with a tight security detail.

Two days into the journey home, Theron felt himself being roused from sleep at her bedside by the feeling of a hand on his wrist. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Xaja slowly blinking herself back to awareness. Her eyes found his, and the discomfort on her face melted into a small smile. "Hey."

Theron leaned forward and ran his thumb over her cheek. "Welcome back," he whispered. "We missed you."

Xaja shifted her weight a little bit closer to Theron and tilted her head toward him. "How long?"

"Four days this time. We're flying back to Odessen right now. The rest of the team's still alive." This probably wasn't the best time to let her know just how close she'd been to losing her family. "We were worried about you."

"Sorry," Xaja whispered. Her fingers managed to find his right hand, still bandaged as the broken bones recovered. The Jedi's brow furrowed in worry. "Theron… you're hurt?"

Theron shook his head. "It's not bad, I promise. Mostly healed already. How are you feeling?"

Xaja seemed to think about her answer for a second, but the twitch of her facial muscles seemed to give her away. "Hurts," she finally admitted, and Theron was amazed that she hadn't registered the pain of her near-fatal wound sooner. "Tired, and hurts."

"I know." Theron kissed her forehead before standing up to inject the Jedi's next dose of painkillers into her arm. "You need rest."

"Don't… don't go," Xaja whispered, her eyes already drooping as the drugs began to take effect.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Theron sat back down and pressed another kiss to her cheek. "I love you."

Xaja's lips relaxed in a soft smile, and she mumbled something that could have been "I love you too," before fading back into sleep. Theron sighed as the Jedi relaxed, shifting his weight on his chair so he could keep his watch over her. There'd be time enough later to confirm for her that Darth Maglion and Lord Xalia were both dead, and to admit that they'd only recovered part of the data Theron had tried to transmit to the shuttle and were still no nearer to finding a backdoor into the programing of the Spire droids. But they'd all made it out alive (even if Xaja and Korin had been far too near to death for Theron's ease of mind). _We'll find another way in, and this time we won't have your uncle trying to kill us all. We're all alive to plan the next round, you most important of all._

* * *

 **See? Told ya the Outtakes weren't always happy and cheery. This plot bunny's been sitting in my head for literally years, ever since Xaja was made for an RP site and I wound up developing her family backstory, and I'm happy it's finally written out.**

 **I promise the next Outtake will be back to goofy silliness, for real! Thanks for reading.**


	8. What's My Age Again?

**See, told you this one would be back to silliness. Apparently you lot don't like the non-funny Outtakes near as much as I do. XD**

* * *

Theron sleepily rolled over in the bed as the alarm went off, feeling a warm weight press up against his side comfortably. "Morning," he mumbled as he kissed Xaja's mussed-up hair while reaching over her to turn off said alarm, a fond smile touching his lips at how innocent and vulnerable and beautiful his commander looked at this particular moment, still mostly-asleep and quite unwilling to change that state of being.

"Mmmph." Xaja draped an arm across Theron's waist and snuggled him closer like an oversized pillow. She liked mornings about as much as she liked spiders… which was to say, not at all.

Theron softly chuckled, ignoring her displeased grunt as the motion made his chest (apparently her new favourite pillow) move. He'd grown up with Master Zho being very adamant about rising early, and for most of his life had believed that all Jedi were of the same mindset, but Xaja seemed to be quite set on making herself different from the rest of the Order. "You gonna let me up so I can shower, love?"

"Mmm…" Xaja shook her head and tightened her grip.

"Would coming with me in said shower make you a bit more willing to let me up?" Theron grinned, desperately trying to not laugh outright at the Jedi's early-morning clinginess.

"... That means getting up," Xaja finally mumbled, cracking one green eye open to stare drowsily up at Theron.

"Yeah, but then getting up now means Lana doesn't come by banging on the door and yelling for us to get presentable because we're skipping important briefings. Again."

Xaja made some noise that could have been best described as a protesting whine, but apparently the reminder that Lana's morning personality was twice as grouchy as her normal persona finally encouraged her to release Theron from her hold and let him into the significantly-cooler air outside of the bed. "Whose idea was it to do early briefings at unholy hours like this?"

"Hers." Theron shivered in the cool air of her room and had to fight the urge to get back into the warm bed with his sleepy human blanket. "C'mon- if I have to be awake and coherent, so do you, Commander."

"Can't I just order you to do all my work for me today?"

"Nope." Theron chuckled as he leaned down to kiss Xaja's cheek, then moved to her jaw and lips, finally getting her a bit more awake and functional. "You coming with me? Shower's just big enough for two people."

"Fine, I'm up." Xaja kissed Theron back and finally sat up, the loose tank top she'd worn to bed hanging off her slim frame. It had been dislodged enough to give Theron a nice, tantalizing reminder of what exactly hid underneath the black fabric, what he'd hopefully see if she ever woke up enough to join him in the shower.

He grinned and bent to kiss her again as he remembered the date. It would be the first time in five years that he hadn't spent this anniversary in a cantina with two drinks in front of him, one left untouched and one being constantly refilled. "Oh, by the way- happy birthday, love."

* * *

"Happy birthday, Commander!" was the resounding chorus in the command centre as soon as Xaja's bright hair was spotted by the rest of the command crew, punctuated by Nico and Koth joining forces to throw a couple of bags of confetti in Xaja's wake (and Theron decided it best to not ask too closely about Nico's sources).

The Jedi in question yelped as she found herself doused in little colourful flecks of paper- or perhaps from hearing a greeting like that. "Uh, thanks all!" she said with a laugh as she turned to give Theron a questioning look. "Did you-?"

"Me?" Theron raised his hands. "I only told Lana what day it was, trying to get you the day off. Apparently Sith don't celebrate things like this."

"They don't," Sorand called over. "I can confirm this. But we're not in the Empire anymore, are we?" The last question was directed to Lana with a smirk.

Lana rolled her eyes and looked back to Xaja. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince Vette that putting Alliance resources to a party instead of ammunition and supplies was not a sound strategy for keeping you alive until your next birthday celebration?"

"It's for morale purposes!" Vette protested as she shoot Lana a mutinous look. "Everyone needs a reason to celebrate, and the Commander making it alive for another year's a good cause!"

"Can't argue with that," Koth agreed. "So, Commander, how old are ya today?"

"Twenty-eight! Old enough to know better, and too young to care, or some such nonsense." Xaja grinned as she claimed her seat at her desk, taking a quick moment to check for any suspiciously-fresh adhesives on the seat. Everyone had learned well from Theron's misfortune (which was still being laughed about), and the prank war was still ongoing.

"Damn, girl, how old were you when you started doing all those heroic Jedi things before the war? Twelve?" Koth shook his head in amazement.

"I was Knighted at twenty-three and-" Xaja suddenly froze, eyes wide. "... wait, that can't be right. I'm missing five years."

And that one sentence killed the festive mood as fast as a blaster bolt. "... So, you're thirty-three now," Lana finally said. "Welcome to being old and mature like the rest of us."

" _Is_ she thirty-three though?" Korin asked as he spun around in his chair. "I'm pretty sure the birthdays she missed in carbonite don't count."

"But chronologically she's that age, given that her year of birth hasn't changed." Reanden frowned at his mug of caf in thought. "Her body's still that old, even if mentally she's still in her twenties. I was there when she was born thirty-three years ago, remember?"

"Technically she didn't age while she was frozen," Sorand pointed out. "She still looks like she's in her late twenties."

"... That's a valid point." Reanden eyed his daughter studiously, never minding that the subject in question appeared to be shifting uncomfortably in her seat at this analysis of her age. "I suppose it would all depend on what her current biosigns read as."

"Dr. Oggurobb probably could do something like that," Theron said as he stepped behind Xaja, absently picking a few stray bits of confetti out of her hair. "Although- Commander, are you going to take it very offensively if I say that I really hope his results say you're thirty-three?"

"That depends on why you're hoping so," Xaja looked up at her lover, one eyebrow quirked in a frown. "Because I still feel like I'm twenty-eight. Why are you so desperately hoping I'm older?"

"Because I'm thirty-seven, and I'd really rather not feel like a pedophile, thank you."

Xaja's eyes widened as Koth hooted with laughter, Reanden's eye twitched, and Lana facepalmed. "... Blast it. I didn't think about that!"

Korin turned to stare at Theron in shock, although there was an unmistakable note of mischief in his eyes. "I don't know what I'm more scandalized about, boss… the fact that you're a shameless cradle-robber an' have my older-little sister in your sights, or that you got old as hell. When the hell did you turn thirty-seven?"

"Shut up, Korin," Theron growled out, trying to ignore the deathglare Reanden was shooting at him.

* * *

"... You know what?" Sorand suddenly said an hour or so later, after Dr. Oggurobb had already collected a sample of Xaja's cells and gone back to his laboratory for analysis. "I'm personally hoping she's still biologically twenty-eight."

"Why's that?" Theron asked as he glanced over at the former Sith.

"Because I turned twenty-nine three weeks before arriving on Odessen. If she's twenty-eight, I won't be the youngest sibling!"

Theron set his datapad down to look at Sorand incredulously. "Is that seriously your biggest concern with this entire thing?"

"Would you rather my biggest concern be that my older-little sister is apparently with a guy way the frack older than her?"

Theron scowled and turned back to his work. "You know, no matter what the results of that test are going to be, I'm pretty sure she's always going to claim you're her baby brother forever." He paused. "Besides, if that theory's correct, then Korin becomes the oldest sibling, and do you really want that inflating his ego?"

"I grew up thinking he was my _only_ older sibling. But you're right, he'd never let Xaja live it down." Sorand shook his head and sighed. "Maybe her being thirty-three is a good thing."

"Besides," Nico added as he walked by, "I've got a fifty credit bet riding on the Commander's age with your brother. She'd better be thirty-three or I'm never gonna hear the end of it."

Sorand and Theron exchanged a look as the old smuggler left the room, sighed, and went back to work.

* * *

The results were… inconclusive, as decided by all of the Alliance specialist leaders.

"Biologically, her cells are only twenty-eight standard years old. It's a remarkable discovery." Dr. Oggurobb flourished his large data display proudly, never minding that all of the strands of numbers and letters on the screens were making Theron's eyes glaze over. "Even with the carbon freezing being flawed, her aging still halted entirely. Do you have any idea what this could shed light on in the scientific communities?"

"Her spirit is old," Sana-Re countered, her blue-white eyes staring at Xaja as the Jedi pretended to ignore everyone else while reading up on the latest Star Fortress intel. "She has seen great sorrow and it has aged her soul in the Force. Her body may be young, but her spirit belongs to that of an older woman."

"Could that aging in her spirit be that ghost taking up space in her brain?" Lana asked curiously.

"It is… possible," the Mystic admitted. "But Valkorion is not the only reason she is aged. Her spirit is scarred and worn from what she has faced already, long before she learned of Zakuul. That aging is all her own."

Admiral Aygo agreed with the Voss. "Battle like what she's seen ages you in a bad way. You look at her eyes, and she looks way older than even thirty-three. I don't care what sort of things they say about Jedi aging slower than most folks- she's old."

Theron thought back to his few memories of his mother and had to agree- Satele Shan had aged remarkably well, and still looked like she was at least a few decades younger than she actually was. He'd thought it was just the Shan genes (hell, he looked relatively young for being thirty-seven), but maybe it was a Force-thing for the Jedi. Or maybe Satele Shan was just unreasonably lucky with her apparent lack of aging.

Hylo merely shrugged. "Age is just a number. The Commander thinks she's twenty-eight? Then she's twenty-eight- even if she's the most mature twenty-eight-year-old I've ever met. I guess it's a Jedi thing for that."

* * *

"Vette apparently is selective as to when she listens to me," Lana sighed as Xaja found herself being swarmed by a pack of Alliance soldiers singing a birthday song to her (loudly and off-key in a way that would have made Korin proud).

"At least it was just a surprise birthday party, and relatively low-key by her standards," Theron muttered as he leaned back against the wall. "You know she wanted to make this the event of the year here, right? I heard of a plan to confer with Bey'wan's parents to get another band out here to perform."

Lana winced. "There aren't enough morale arguments in the sector to convince me that would be a good idea." She paused, lips pursed in the way that Theron knew to mean she was deep in thought. "Has there been any agreement as to how old she actually is?"

Theron shook his head. "She's not letting us pass around a general survey of the base population, and I don't really blame her. Some of Hylo's pilots already had a running bet going as to her age, and you probably don't want to know how many of them were pegging her for seventeen or eighteen. The highest guess there was twenty-six."

"If she did actually start her 'heroic Jedi feats' at age twelve, as Koth was suggesting, she might pass for a twenty-six-year-old. But seventeen?" Lana glanced over at Theron, and now the spy could see the slight twitch of the Sith's lips. "I would have to join in all the pedophile jokes about you."

"Thanks, Lana." Theron scowled, although the expression eased when he felt a smaller, slighter hand take his. "Hey, Commander," he addressed the pretty Jedi at his side. "How're you feeling?"

"Old," Xaja grumped. "Not quite thirty-three, but old."

There were only a few instances when Theron would direct one of his scowls at Xaja Taerich, and this moment was one of them. "You think _you_ feel old?!" On his other side, Lana pressed her fingers to her mouth as though trying to not laugh out loud.

"... Sorry." Xaja looked sheepish for a minute as she stretched up to kiss Theron's cheek. "You're not old, Theron. Just… ruggedly and maturely handsome." The petite Jedi nodded firmly at her new analysis of her lover's age. "I'm sure Lana will agree with me- right, Lana?"

"I'm staying out of this!" Lana protested, hands raised in surrender and laughter hidden in her voice. "You two can argue about how age looks on Theron on your own time."

Theron helplessly looked at the ceiling, as though begging for salvation from some invisible deity. "You wound my self-confidence, Commander. I don't know how your apparently-old-looking spymaster will ever recover from this."

"I have a suggestion for how I can possibly help your recovery from this wound I've given you and am therefore responsible for…" Xaja winked. "It's not one that would work well in this cantina though. People would talk about your poor shattered self-assurance."

"Can't have that happen, can we?" Theron leaned down to kiss Xaja's pulse point on her jaw, then teasingly nipped at her earlobe, making her shiver. "Have we been here for a socially-acceptable long enough time for us to be able to leave?"

"So you two can get on with your less-than-public behavior, please," Lana groaned, her back having turned to the couple behind her. "I'm already feeling nauseous, and I don't think that was the juma Kaliyo found."

Xaja winked and gave Theron another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then looked back at Lana. "To be entirely fair, I'm not sure that was juma, and I really don't want to look too hard into it."

"Probably wise of you." Theron draped his arm across Xaja's shoulders and tugged her against his side. "So, any conclusions regarding how old you actually are now? Because I do need to know, for reasons."

"Reasons that include you not getting a reputation as a cradle-robber?" Xaja asked with a laugh.

"That, and resolving the betting pool Korin and Nico may or may not have started, and apparently there's a tradition on some planets for birthday spankings…" Theron smirked as Xaja blushed to approximately the same colour as his jacket.

Lana facepalmed. "Ugh. Why do I associate myself with you two?"

"We're adorable, Lana. Or so says everyone else in the base." Xaja glanced back up, her cheeks still as red as her hair. "But in seriousness, I think I have actually figured out my age for real."

Despite herself, Lana glanced back at the Jedi. "And how old are you, Commander?"

"Thirty-one."

Theron opened his mouth, closed it again, then looked at Lana and shrugged. "Well, it works, I guess…"

"Somewhere in the middle ground to accommodate your chronological and your mental ages. It's not the worst idea you've had," Lana nodded in agreement. "I don't know that we can get all of your identification easily altered for your new age, but it'll work at least for now."

"And thank you for rounding up," Theron quickly added to Xaja with a heartfelt tone. "A six-year age gap is way easier to work with than seven or nine years."

"The things I do for you," Xaja laughed as she leaned into Theron's side. "So now you're just a playground robber instead of cradles?"

Theron sighed, then shrugged. "Either way, you're past the Republic age of consent, which is, you know, important." He winked as Xaja blushed again. "Remember what I mentioned about traditional span-"

"Out!" Lana whirled around to give both Jedi and spy a firm shove toward the door. "I don't want to see either of you until that's out of your systems!"

Xaja laughed and gave Lana a cheeky wave as she pulled Theron out of the cantina and toward the lift. "So how does this presumably very sacred tradition go? One spank per year of life?"

"Normally, yes." Theron grinned as he sent the lift down to the Commander's quarters. "But I figure there's a couple of bonuses in there for unaccounted years…"

* * *

 **The Outtakes: addressing real issues that don't get talked about nearly enough since 2017, like how damn old the Commander actually is. XD**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	9. Surprise!

**So I wasn't going to post this, but then Crisis on Umbara happened (in which BioWare stomped ALL OVER MY FEELINGS YOU MOTHERKRIFFERS), and now I have to play catch-up so as to post the plot-bunny that Flashpoint Which Shall Not Be Named inspired. So here you go.**

* * *

Even through the uncomfortable Zakuulan armour and helmet (and Theron could already feel precisely where he was going to have awful welts and bruises in the morning), he could see Xaja suddenly waver as though dizzy. It was a lucky thing for them that they were in a maintenance corridor in Vaylin's palace, far away from spying eyes to see the person in a Knight's garb stagger like that. "You okay?" he asked, reaching to take her elbow worriedly. "Is your ghostly passenger offering unhelpful commentary again?" It was happening often enough that even Theron could sense when Valkorion was tormenting Xaja, despite his Force-blindness. Valkorion's darkness wasn't something that was possible to miss.

"We're near the kitchens," Xaja groaned as she leaned into Theron's touch. "I can't tell what monstrosity they're cooking, but it's making me nauseous."

Theron frowned under his helmet. Xaja normally had the stomach-of-durasteel that most Jedi were famed for, and even if she hadn't, he couldn't really smell much of… anything besides sweat under the stifling bucket. Maybe it was just her heightened Force-senses. "Are you going to be okay for the rest of this mission?"

"Yeah… let's just get this done faster. I'll be okay when we're out of smelling range." Xaja shuddered visibly as she straightened. "Maybe this is why Vaylin and her guards are always perpetually grouchy…"

"I can't blame the Knights, at any rate," Theron grumbled. "I've got armour bites forming in very uncomfortable areas." It was taking an amount of willpower that would have impressed even his mother to not walk bow-legged like he wanted to so as to ease the chafing on the welts forming in an area not up for polite public display.

He could see Xaja wince even through her armour. "I'm sorry, love. I'll quit complaining about the one on the back of my knee. Even though I think it's starting to bleed." She paused, then lightly nudged her armour-clad hip against his in an inappropriately cheeky manner. "Does this mean I'm not going to have future opportunities to enjoy my newfound appreciation for men in armour?"

Theron snorted in amusement and swung a hand down to lightly swat Xaja's backside. "Find me some decent-fitting and somewhat-comfortable armour and I'll happily let you enjoy that view anytime you want. In the meantime, I might have to beg you to kiss these bites better when we get out of here."

"Anything for my favourite spy-boy." Xaja nudged up into Theron's side, then reeled as the ventilation systems kicked in, and this time Theron could smell exactly what the kitchens were cooking. It smelled worse than Korin's culinary attempts, and that said something. "Let's get out of here before I blow our cover by getting sick inside this helmet," Xaja added with a groan, all flirtation forgotten.

"Lead on," Theron muttered with a grimace. "Hopefully this is the worst smell we'll have to deal with in here."

The beast pens were far worse.

* * *

Even with returning back to Odessen (with the additional Emperor-turned-recruit in tow), Xaja's sudden and unexpected nausea hadn't gone away entirely- Theron woke up the next morning (in a great deal of discomfort from armour bites and bruises from jumping into the beast pen to save the Zakuulan rebels. Apparently Xaja's lack of a survival instinct was wearing off on him.) to hear her darting into the refresher and throwing up. "You must have picked up a stomach bug," he diagnosed as he held her long hair out of the way, soothingly rubbing her back.

"Awful timing for it," Xaja groaned as she spat into the bowl and leaned against Theron's chest wearily. "Can we blame Vaylin?"

"I was gonna blame Vaylin anyway. Maybe it was the damned kitchen nightmare." Theron bent down and kissed Xaja's forehead. "Think you're okay to try taking a shower?"

Xaja seemed to think about it for a minute, then winced. "... Give me a minute."

Eight seconds later, Theron made the executive decision to call Lana and let her know she was running the show today since the Commander looked like she'd be taking a sick day.

* * *

The little jaunt to Nathema (an excursion that Xaja simply couldn't pass off to Lana or Sorand alone and had to be a part of, despite the persistent flu) most certainly didn't help whatever virus she'd picked up- instead now she had a constant migraine on top of the nausea that hadn't abated. And it wasn't like she'd had the time to rest after fleeing the Force-dead planet before fighting for her life and Odessen against Vaylin's forces. At least the adrenaline of the fierce desperate battle had seemingly kept the illness at bay for a few hours.

Xaja felt sick to her stomach again, but not with whatever contagion she'd picked up on Zakuul. It was three in the morning, and the base was a ghost town- even Theron had passed out a couple of hours ago, exhausted after running triage on the survivors of the attack and coordinating the acceptance of the Zakuulan forces' surrender after Vaylin's defeat. Xaja was bone weary, but she couldn't sleep- every time she closed her eyes, she saw the legions of dead forces, both her own and the Zakuulans… Korin with a terrible gash on his head, still alive and still fighting to protect the wounded soldiers at his back as the Skytroopers threatened to swarm him… her father, having taken up a sniper's position in the cover of a cliff because his wounds made it too painful for him to fight at any closer of a range… Sorand being thrown like a rag doll by Vaylin away from where he'd been trying to protect Xaja and rescue Vette… Vaylin, her face twisted with rage and terror… Valkorion's cruel laughter echoing in the back of Xaja's mind, like a thorn that wouldn't go away.

And Vette. Force dammit, _Vette_ …

The petite Jedi slumped onto a chair in what was left of the military wing, the only area of the base with enough floor space to accommodate the recovered bodies of the dead. Shara Verhayc was there, under a thin white sheet, set a little apart from the other dead as a sign of respect for the Commander's Mandalorian sister-in-law. And Vette was beside her, one of the last casualties of the battle, the last person killed by Vaylin herself before Xaja's blades had taken the mad Empress' life. _Not soon enough,_ the Jedi berated herself, guilt and sorrow for her failure to protect everyone swamping her and making it hard to breathe. Her stomach churned, and she didn't care that she was in full view of the small honour guard voluntarily standing sentinel over the bodies, she was going to throw up what little she'd eaten over the last day…

Someone sat beside her, and a worn hand closed over hers, grounding Xaja back to reality. "Breathe," spoke Senya's low voice, sounding like she was parsecs away from Xaja. "In through your nose… now out through your mouth. In through your nose…"

Xaja squeezed her eyes shut to focus on Senya's voice as much to avoid looking at the bodies of her fallen troops and friends, fingers twisting to hold the older woman's hand tightly. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered, struggling to keep the tears at bay, and unsure as to whether she was apologizing for her weakness or for killing Senya's daughter. She wouldn't weep for Vaylin- almost nobody would. But she was sitting beside one of the only two people who might mourn the insane Empress.

"... It needed to be done." Senya's voice was heavy, resigned, and now that Xaja was focusing, the older woman sounded like she'd been crying already. "It wasn't your fault, Commander." The hand holding Xaja's squeezed tightly; it was likely Senya needed comfort as badly as Xaja did. There was a long pause, then the ex-Knight spoke again. "How is your brother faring?"

Xaja slumped in her seat, forcing herself to look at the sheet-covered body of her sister-in-law. "Sorand's devastated, both from not being able to save Vette and from losing Shara. For all they say the Sith don't have hearts… he loved her dearly. I don't think he's sent word back to Shara's father yet… I don't think he knows how he's going to tell his kids what happened." She flinched away from the sight of Shara's body again. "I should have been faster…"

"You were already running fast enough that Arcann and I had trouble keeping up with you. You couldn't have gotten to the Mandalorians any faster- or to Vette. Shara died defending a cause she believed in, as did Vette. They knew what they were risking by signing up to fight beside you."

"And I had an obligation to protect them!"

"Them, and every other person on this planet. And you saved the overwhelming majority of lives, Xaja. That is all that you could possibly have done."

Xaja sighed, not knowing how to voice all of her fears and griefs to Senya, who was mourning her own daughter. How could she say that she feared her youngest brother would never forgive her for letting his wife die and leave two young children behind? How could she confess her heartache for Theron's quiet, withdrawn mood this evening, even though she rationally knew he had every single reason to not want to talk much at all, even to her… or _especially_ to her? He'd cared for Vette like a little sister- everyone on the command staff had. Forget voicing her grief at the haunted look in Torian's eyes when he realized the cost Xaja had paid to save his life, or Gault's cry of grief at losing his partner in crime, or Sorand's terrible scream when he recognized his wife's body among the dead and the way he'd run to her, despite his numerous injuries from Vaylin…

The Jedi realized she was weeping and Senya was soothingly rubbing her back, and took a shaky breath. "Sorry," she whispered, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. "I'm blaming this kriffing _shabla_ stomach flu." Even the Mandalorian curses Xaja knew hurt to use, because Shara had taught her how to properly swear in Mando'a all those years ago on Rishi.

Senya froze. "... You haven't realized it?"

"Realized what?" Xaja turned her head to eye the older woman in confusion.

Senya shifted, kneeling in front of Xaja, blue eyes wide. "It's not a stomach flu, Commander," she said, reaching to brush her fingers just over the flame-haired Jedi's flat stomach. "It's morning sickness." A small smile touched her lips despite her sadness. "When you've had your own… you can tell with other women."

Xaja felt her jaw drop. Disbelief and something that felt like sheer terror stole her voice for several long moments. "But- but that's- we used protection! I was told I wouldn't be able to… not without… how?!" A thought came to mind that made her stomach drop to her knees. "... How am I going to tell Theron?"

"You're strong, Commander, and anyone with eyes to see can tell Theron loves you more than anyone else in this galaxy. I'm sure he'll be delighted with the news." Senya paused. "... After he stops panicking, of course."

Xaja groaned and dropped her forehead into her hands. "Worst timing ever." How was she supposed to think about claiming the Eternal Throne when she had a brand new growing life within her womb that needed her care?

* * *

The throne room, normally pristine, was lined with the motionless bodies of countless Skytroopers. Senya stood in the centre of the storm, breathing hard and dripping sweat, blood trickling from a cut above her eyes. But Theron's focus slid right past the older woman and to the scene happening on the throne itself. Xaja was slumped over in the gilded seat, apparently unconscious if one ignored the twitching limbs and frequent grimaces. She was fighting something- or some _one_ of a planet-consuming mind-devouring nature- that Theron couldn't see or help her with, and he tried to not feel jealous that Arcann was kneeling at her feet, apparently already doing what Theron couldn't.

"He's _here_ ," Lana snarled beside Theron, golden eyes flaring as she stared at Xaja. "He's fighting her to regain the throne… just like she predicted."

"And nobody else thought that this just might have been a trap?" Theron growled at the world in general as he ran up to the throne. Xaja didn't even so much as turn in his direction, lost in her fight, even when Theron grabbed her hand tightly. "I'm here, Xaja," he said, praying that his voice could reach her and help her in some way. "I'm right here. You've got this, you're stronger than he is. You can win this."

On Xaja's other side, Arcann groaned but remained in his trance, sweat beading on his scarred forehead. Xaja remained almost motionless, if one discounted the tears streaming down her cheeks from her closed eyes and the expression of agony marring her pretty face... and how her hand twisted in Theron's grip to squeeze back as tightly as she could, perhaps subconsciously aware of him.

Senya stared at her son and her commander/soon-to-be-empress for a long moment, worrying at her lip with her teeth. "... They need help," she whispered. "He's fighting both of them."

"We'll cover you." Lana took up a guard position in front of the throne, lightsaber drawn and activated. "Do whatever you need to do to help her."

Theron nodded in agreement, shifting to the side as Senya hurried up to the throne. The older woman knelt in front of Xaja, rested a hand on the Jedi's knee, and sank into her own deep meditation. Whatever fight the Force-users were involved with, Theron could almost imagine he could feel it despite his blindness to the Force- and he knew he recognized the waves of thick, cloying darkness that was Valkorion. He'd been beside Xaja when the ghost had come to torment her often enough that he'd started to sense the old Emperor's presence, and the sonofabitch was here.

And then, long minutes later, he _wasn't_. Theron was nearly knocked down by the sudden pulse of powerful dark energy that radiated outward from the throne, and saw Lana stagger from the impact. Beside him, Senya wearily sagged as her eyes opened; Arcann slumped over with a deep, shaky inhale and a groan of what sounded like relief; and Xaja fell forward and would have gone tumbling right into Senya and down the stairs if Theron hadn't caught her first. "Easy, easy," he quickly said as he pulled his lover back into the throne, rubbing her shoulders as Xaja reached up to grab his arms as though to reassure herself of his presence. "I'm here. I've got you." He pressed soft, gentle kisses to her skin and hair as though to reassure both her and himself that all was well. "You're okay, I'm here for you. I always have been, love."

Xaja turned her gaze to him, and the exhausted-looking yet triumphant look to her eyes made Theron's heart leap even before she spoke, new tears streaming down her pale cheeks- but of joy, not suffering. "He's gone. He's finally _gone_ , Theron!" The spy suddenly found himself with an armful of shaking Jedi Master and ran his fingers through her hair as the tension she'd carried on her slim shoulders for far too long released itself from her in the form of relieved tears. "He's gone!"

Arcann nodded, a grin on his ruined face even as he flopped over in an undignified slump on the stairs. "He's gone, and he'll never be able to return. You did it, Outla- Comma- blast it, Empress."

"Too many titles," Xaja mumbled as she leaned into Theron, relieved tears streaming down her cheeks. "But he's gone! I'm free!"

Theron laughed in relief and pulled her slightly back to kiss her soundly her for a long moment, for once not caring about their audience. "See? I said you were stronger than him."

"I almost wasn't," Xaja softly admitted, and for a moment Theron saw her fears resurface. The fight had apparently been much closer than he'd suspected. "If Arcann hadn't jumped in when he did…"

Arcann waved a hand wearily. "You gave me my life back. Helping protect your mind was the least I could do."

"And you're not the only one who needs protecting," Senya finally said as she pulled herself back to Xaja, her hands resting on the Jedi's stomach. "You're fortunate he didn't try to go for the baby as a new ves-"

"WHAT?!" Theron's jaw dropped. Arcann sat up fast enough to give himself whiplash. Lana whirled, lightsaber clattering on the floor as it fell from nerveless fingers. Xaja froze in Theron's arms, her expression a strange combination of guilt and worry.

Senya froze, eyes widening at Xaja accusingly. "You didn't tell them?!"

Xaja scowled at Senya. "When was I going to tell everyone? On the _Gravestone_?"

"... Fair point. Now hold still so I can check on the baby."

Ignoring Senya's attempts to check on the apparent fetus growing in Xaja's belly, Theron grabbed his lover's shoulders and stared her in the eyes, still trying to get his heart to start beating again. "What the hell does she mean, baby? Is… are you-?"

Xaja nodded, the joy in her eyes at Valkorion's defeat being replaced by apprehension and caution. "I only found out the night of the battle on Odessen. Senya thinks I'm only a few weeks along, I still need to get one of the medics to confirm her guess." She hesitated, and unless the shock was affecting Theron's ability to pick up on her emotions, that was fear in her eyes… a fear of him and his reaction? "I was going to tell you as soon as I could, Theron, honest. There just wasn't time on the _Gravestone_ , and then you would have tried to keep me on Odessen and away from the fight even if my family didn't try to and… frack, I've karked this up. I'm sorry, Theron, really…"

Theron forced himself to take a breath, still staring in shock at Xaja. There was the vague sense of betrayal that he hadn't been the first person to know of the pregnancy (although at least he was more fortunate than his father, who hadn't known about his own son's existence for thirty kriffing years!), and the feeling that the floor had dropped out from under him and he was still free-falling through Zakuul's atmosphere, and somewhere underneath all that was a slowly-building hope and joy and pure fear because bloody hell he and the woman he loved were…

"... You're pregnant," he finally said.

"Unless Senya's very wrong, yes." Xaja's answer was cautious, as though she were gauging just what Theron's reactions were going to be.

"... You're going to have a baby."

"Yes? Unless you're volunteering instead?..."

"... We're gonna be parents."

"Is that okay? I know it's not the best time or anything but…" Xaja trailed off. "... Theron?"

Theron stayed frozen for a long moment as he attempted to process this new and terrifying information. "Told you he was going to panic," was the last thing he heard Senya dryly say before he pitched over in a dead faint.

* * *

"She's _what_?!" There were few things that could make (former) Sith Intelligence Commander Reanden Taerich sound quite so panicked as he did now, and for a moment Theron wondered what had the older spy so scared.

Then he wondered why he was laying on a cold, hard surface with a smaller, feminine-feeling pair of hands on his shoulder and arm trying to shake him awake.

And then he remembered the revelation that had made him faint to begin with. And in front of Lana bloody Beniko, too. But Theron didn't even think too hard about his bruised ego, his mind racing with the knowledge that had taken over his mind. _She's pregnant. Xaja's pregnant with my baby. I'm gonna be a dad. I have no idea how to be a dad! What are we going to do?_

His eyes fluttered open to reveal a chaotic scene before him. Arcann and Senya were standing and facing the rest of Xaja's birth family (plus Koth, who was standing behind the others with a dropped jaw), none of whom had sensed the Commander's new pregnancy either- Reanden, in front, looked equal parts shocked and ecstatic at the prospect of a new grandchild. Korin looked like he'd had the wind knocked out of him and still didn't quite know what he thought about this entire situation. And Sorand was frozen into stillness, staring past Senya and Arcann, past Theron and Lana, and directly at his sister, who Theron now realized was the one gently shaking him.

Lana looked down and saw Theron looking around. "Oh, you're finally awake," she said, relief and no small amount of amusement in her voice. Yet Theron was pretty sure there was still lingering shock in the Sith's eyes that she was trying to mask. "Do all men in the Republic faint when learning they're going to be fathers?"

"They do in the Empire," Reanden muttered, rubbing the back of his head as though there was an embarrassing memory there of his own personal experience. "Theron's taking the news better than I did with my firstborn, to be entirely fair…"

Sorand numbly nodded in agreement with his father's statement, although he was still mute and still staring at Xaja in shock.

Theron pushed himself into a sitting position with Lana and Xaja's help, feeling the worried stare his lover was directing to the back of his head. "Okay," he breathed out as he finally got settled upright, forcing himself to take a couple of deep breaths so he wouldn't pass out again. "So that wasn't just a hallucination? You actually are…"

"Yeah." Xaja's hand lowered over Theron's, hesitantly. "Lana says she can sense it too."

"So can I," Sorand finally spoke, his voice rough and hoarse. "Now that I know what I'm looking for, it's there. Senya's probably right with how far along you are, too. Shara felt the same with-" He froze and looked away, jaw clenching as he fought back another bought of grief for his dead wife.

"... So, I'm gonna be an uncle again?" Korin had finally clued back into reality enough to decide that he was delighted with the situation. "Excellent, one more niece or nephew to spoil!"

"Korin, I swear I'm going to find a nice Zakuulan girl to set you up with permanently…" Xaja threatened as she started to stand up.

Theron immediately jerked himself upward, grabbing Xaja's arms. "Slowly, now. Let me give you a hand."

Xaja sighed and gave Theron a bemused look. "Love, I'm only a few weeks along- five at the most. I'm okay-"

"You just fought a blasted war, fought off a particularly powerful Sith ghost, nearly got yourself killed by Vaylin _again_ , and- oh, hell, did being on Nathema do something to you or it? That was way less than five weeks ago!"

"Told you so," Senya said to Xaja over Theron's head, and the spy noted the older woman was wearing an actual grin for the first time since Vaylin's death. "I think he's okay with the idea."

"It hasn't quite set in yet," Theron muttered as he turned back to Xaja. If he thought about his imminent fatherhood too much he was going to completely lose it and quite probably faint again (and neither Lana nor Korin would ever let him live it down), so it was far easier to focus on making sure Xaja didn't even bruise herself. Because Force dammit, she was pregnant with his baby and like hell he was going to let her or their child come to harm and- that was _his_ baby in her womb now. His _child_! "But seriously, sit down. You have this terrible tendency to get yourself badly injured at every conceivable opportunity and I don't want that happening!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Theron." Lana fixed Xaja with a very no-nonsense glare. "I can't believe you fought a war knowing you were pregnant!"

"I didn't even know until after the battle at Odessen!" Xaja protested. "Besides, who else was going to lead this circus?"

"... We would have figured something out," Lana stubbornly insisted.

"Why do I have a feeling that would have involved putting me in some protective bubble and leaving me the hell away from the centre of things where I needed to be?"

"That's still an option," Theron quickly said.

Xaja shot him a frown. "Theron, I'm fine, and as far as we can tell, so's the baby."

"And you're going to stay that way." Theron pushed down on Xaja's shoulders until she was sitting back on the throne. "Do you want me to start naming the amount of times that I thought I lost you _after_ you were freed from carbonite? How many times since then you've landed in the medical bay or needing Force-healing, even a kolto tank?"

"That's part of the territory with being a faction leader, Theron-"

"And now part of the package of being a parent to-be is being nursemaided and guarded closely until the baby's born." Theron held her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I've nearly lost you too many times already and it nearly broke me every time," he whispered, low enough that the others couldn't hear him. "I can't lose you again now, not when there's two of you at risk. Xaja, please just let me protect you as best I can- both of you."

There was a long moment before Xaja accepted defeat and nodded, reaching up to take Theron's hand in her slim fingers. "Okay," she whispered. "For the baby's sake." She hesitated again, looking up at him worriedly. "Are you really okay with this? You weren't exactly expecting this, and…"

Theron took a not-shaky-at-all breath, then slowly smiled and kissed her forehead. "You're the only person I would ever want as the mother of my child. What could go wrong?"

"I thought you knew better than to say that," Xaja laughed in open relief as she lightly pushed at his chest. "You're gonna jinx it."

"You've had enough of a run of bad luck over the last eight years, love. You're due for some peace and quiet." Theron stepped to the side where he could still hold her hand. "But seriously- do you feel okay?"

Xaja hesitated, then gave up on her stubborn sense of bravado. "Bruised up and I feel like I want to sleep for the next month without some ghostly schutta-spawn giving me nightmares- so, normal for me."

"Well, we'll do our best to keep you from accumulating new bruises and war wounds," Lana spoke up, giving the Commander- no, Empress now- a rare, warm smile. "Congratulations, Empress Xaja. You've earned a lifetime's worth of rest and peace now."

"Zakuul will want to meet their new ruler soon," Arcann added, his disfigured face transformed with the sincere smile at the sight of someone else in his old seat.

Xaja gave Arcann a curious look, then shook her head. "I'm no Empress, Arcann. There's no room for that title beside 'Jedi Master' and 'Commander'." I guess I'll have to give a public address at some point though, won't I…" She paused and gave Theron a pointed look. "Love, are you going to let me up so I can give the official notice?"

"Yes, Commander." Theron winked as he leaned in to kiss her, then stood back so she could stand up- and if he still had his arm conveniently out for her to grab in case she needed it, and she just happened to take it as she rose up, who was judging?

He didn't miss a small smile finally come to Sorand's face for the first time since his wife was killed as the former Sith leaned over to Korin. "Fifty credits says it's a boy."

Korin looked over at his younger brother and grinned wickedly. "You're on. I'm gonna start planning nicknames for my new niece when she gets here."

"I bet both," Koth added with a grin. "Twins, one of each."

Xaja and Theron took a moment to exchange a terrified look at the prospect.

And thus did Odessen's newest betting pool come to life.

* * *

 **#BabyShan- coming to your fanfiction feeds soon. Because BioWare won't give me an in-game half-Jedi spy baby.**

 **BioWare is run by meanie-faces.**


	10. Stakeout

**It's not humour. It's not angst. Behold- I give you SHAMELESS FLUFF!**

 **Tumblr prompt: "Accidentally falling asleep together" (Thanks, Greywolf!)**

 **Takes place during the Star Fortress runs, so probably sometime before picking up Kaliyo.**

* * *

 _Why can things never go according to plan?_ Theron inwardly wondered as he leaned against the wall, frowning at the small crack in the otherwise-boarded-up window. Outside, Tatooine's twin suns scorched the tiny, abandoned moisture farm that was just visible through the crack. At least the air inside the old hovel was sheltered from the sun, even if the airflow wasn't that great.

He would have opened the window to try and get a crossbreeze going, but that would have just announced his and Xaja's position to the large and well-armed pack of Sand People travelling past the farm. These ones, fortunately, seemed to be migratory and not inclined to settle down in the ruined buildings.

Unfortunately, they were moving at what Theron was convinced was the slowest possible pace. "I've seen Hutts move faster than this," he quietly grumbled.

"To be entirely fair, it's mid-afternoon. Maybe they'll pick up their pace when it gets a little cooler." Xaja slumped down in an entirely undignified heap beside the wall and took a sip from one of her water canteens. At least she and Theron hadn't come unprepared to meet up with Choza to plan their takedown of the Star Fortress looming overhead, just out of Theron's field of vision. "Are they still moving, at least?"

Theron glanced back out. "Yeah, and not towards us. But they're still too close, we'll be seen and chased down if we try to move now. I don't know about you, but I'm not keen on fighting a group that size."

"It's too hot to fight anything," Xaja complained. She'd shed her lightly armoured jacket, and now was down to a tank top that clung to her in just the right ways to make Theron feel a rush of heat that had nothing to do with Tatooine's suns. "We're in for a long wait, then?"

"Looks like it." Theron forced his stare away from Xaja's petite frame to take a final look out the window. "We've probably got an hour, at least. Assuming they don't stop."

"May as well take the opportunity for a rest, right?" Xaja raised one of the canteens and gave it a pointed shake in Theron's direction as he turned back around. "Drink something. I don't know how to save you if you die of dehydration out here."

"What, aren't you amazing at everything?" Theron teased as he mimicked her example, shrugging off his jacket and sitting down beside her. The red leather may have offered some protection from stray blaster bolts and sharp objects, but it was a relief to expose his bare arms to the air.

"Remember what happened the last time I was given medical equipment more complicated than a kolto gel pack?" Xaja shook her head and smiled wistfully as she handed Theron the canteen. "I think Doc nearly had an aneurism."

It wasn't any matter that their first touches had been over five years ago, or that Theron was a regular fixture in Xaja's bed- the brush of their fingers on the canteen still sent a pleasurable jolt through him. "And here I'd thought he was just stressed out because you'd gone tearing through the Revanite camp to find me without a plan after 'find me'," he said with a chuckle.

"No- well, okay, maybe that, with only an Imperial agent for backup who Doc didn't trust yet. But apparently my attempts to put kolto on you were a crime to medicine." Xaja smiled, but Theron still caught a glimpse of the sadness in her eyes that talking about her old crew still brought up.

"I don't remember a hell of a lot from between you hauling me out of that base and coming to in the village to hear him grumbling," he quickly said to distract Xaja from the painful memories, "but I'm still here, so you can't have done that terrible a job. For what it's worth, my semi-conscious self then probably appreciated your efforts." He paused and grinned. "And if past-Theron didn't properly thank his rescuer and would-be medic then for saving his ass, I'd like to make up for that now."

Xaja softly laughed, the grief in her eyes fading to amusement. "I can't actually remember if past-Theron thanked past-Xaja for that, mostly because I spent most of that speeder ride terrified you were going to die on me anyway. But present-Xaja fully accepts those thanks, and would like to add that saving your ass was totally worth it."

Theron grinned and leaned in to kiss Xaja's cheek. "Mmm, still feel like I need to fully emphasize how much I appreciate all your heroism with saving my hide all those times…" he murmured as his lips travelled down to her jawline and neck, her pulse racing under her sweat-dampened skin.

"This is hardly the-" Xaja softly gasped as Theron found one tender area of her neck to nibble at. "... the time or place, Theron!" But her hands had still come up to touch him, slim fingers tangling into his hair to keep him right where he was on her neck.

"We do have time," Theron whispered against her skin. "It'll be a while before the tribe is pas-" Xaja suddenly froze, making the spy look up worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Shhh!" Xaja's eyes darted to the crumbling staircase the pair had climbed up not much earlier. "We've got company."

Theron frowned as he lifted his head, reaching for a blaster as he strained his ears and tried to forget how turned on he'd been seconds ago. "What do you feel?" he whispered.

Xaja's eyes narrowed in concentration. "Two below us," she breathed out, barely audible. "A few more scouting nearby."

 _Blast it!_ The kriffers had the worst possible timing. Theron shifted as he raised the blaster, making sure to keep his body between the staircase and Xaja. The Sand People were very stealthy, but he was pretty sure he could hear the rustling of robes on the ground below- and then, a grunt in the aliens' language that he couldn't understand. He glanced back at Xaja and mouthed ' _Fight?_ ' at her.

Xaja thought for a second, then shook her head. ' _Too many_ ', she mouthed back, gesturing to the window and the rest of the tribe outside.

Theron frowned, then sharply looked to the staircase. That was the distinct sound of a footstep on a stair that he'd heard. Apparently Xaja wasn't going to get her wish to remain hidden and out of combat. _If I hit it with a toxin dart, it'll be quiet until its buddies come looking for it, but maybe it'll buy us time to find a way out of here-_

A slim hand landed on his wrist and lowered his arm despite the ascending enemy. "Trust me," Xaja breathed into Theron's ear, barely loud enough for him to hear her, close proximity notwithstanding.

Theron gave Xaja an incredulous look, then looked back as the Sand Person's helmeted head came into view. The hand on his wrist tightened to firmly push his blaster down despite his instincts. Xaja's other hand waved through the air as the Sand Person turned to look directly in their direction in the traditional style of a Jedi mind trick.

The alien paused and shook its head in confusion, but didn't start shouting an alarm to its fellow tribe members. It took a step forward, but Xaja waved her hand again, and it froze, seeming to think for a moment before it turned and headed back down the stairs. Theron heard the mumbles and growls of the nomads' language, then footsteps and silence.

On silent feet, Xaja got up and crept over to the window. "They're gone for now," she whispered, "but there's still half the tribe exploring outside. I think I've tricked the one into thinking up here is empty and too dangerous to explore, but it's hard to do a mind trick that influences the mind of someone who doesn't speak the same language."

"Those don't wear off fast, do they?" Theron whispered as he glanced suspiciously at the staircase.

"Not usually. I caught it off-guard so it should take well." Xaja crept back over and slid down beside Theron again. "But we'll have to be careful. Not sure how many I can mindtrick all at once."

Theron nodded and settled in to wait out the tribe's exploration of the area, his fingers drifting down to weave into Xaja's hand comfortably. _They had to pick the hottest time of the day to trap us in here,_ he inwardly grumbled. At least sitting in the shaded, if somewhat stuffy, attic of an abandoned hovel was better than picking their way through the canyon in the blazing sunlight. Although to be entirely fair, moving would have kept him from thinking about the long nights he'd pulled recently to prepare for this new meetup. Some desert cultures treated the hottest part of the afternoon as a naptime, and right now, he could understand why.

But no, he had to stay awake to keep watch. That heaviness in his eyes was just sand that he'd picked up during their gallivanting around Tatooine. He softly sighed and squirmed a bit until his aching back found a bit of respite in his position.

"You okay?" Xaja softly whispered as she took another sip from her canteen.

"Yeah," Theron murmured. "Back's just sore. Floor's not exactly luxury seating." He grinned and rested his cheek against her shoulder.

Xaja smiled and teasingly raked her fingers through Theron's hair. She was the only person in the galaxy allowed to muss up Theron's hairstyle. "Sorry," she whispered. "Anything I can do to help?"

"I've found a comfy human pillow, and it's pretty, too." Theron winked up at her and snuggled in to make a point. "Much better already."

Xaja had to press her fingers against her lips to not laugh. "I live to serve," she murmured, her fingers continuing to stroke through his hair.

Theron did try to stay awake, honestly, and every so often jolted his eyes towards the staircase when he thought he heard something from downstairs. But between the heat, the fatigue, and his comfortable human pillow with her constant playing with his hair, it was an embarrassingly short time before his eyes finally closed and his breathing evened out. Those other desert cultures with their afternoon naps in the heat had a smart idea…

* * *

Xaja had drifted into meditation after several minutes of silence between her and Theron, using the Force to track the points of life that were the Sand People. They'd finally moved away from the hovel, but were still far too close to risk moving yet.

That suited their situation just fine. She felt Theron's Force-presence fade into sleep despite his best efforts, and wasn't sure whether she should smile fondly or groan in exasperation. Staying awake in the heat and immobility was difficult enough without a peacefully-resting man resting on her like he was, all comfortably snuggled into her neck. She was tempted to nudge him awake, but she could see the lines of fatigue running through his Force-signature. _He needs rest. And he feels so comfortable and at peace- it would be cruel to wake him up._

The fact that she hadn't stopped stroking his hair, even in her meditative state, had exactly _nothing_ to do with that.

The petite Jedi carefully shifted so she could rest her head against his without disturbing him, casting out again with the Force. Yes, the Sand People were still moving past the hovel with no further interest in the supposedly-empty buildings, but they'd be a while in moving to a safe enough location for the two hiding humans to escape. Plenty of time to meditate and let Theron get a well-deserved nap in. And the fact that Theron's slow, even breathing was setting the pace for her own breaths and his arm had fallen across her waist to cuddle her despite the heat had absolutely _nothing_ to do with how difficult her thoughts were becoming to order and align properly.

Jedi mental discipline only goes so far when confronted with heat and a comfortable snuggling companion, and it wasn't long before Xaja's meditation turned into a nap of her own, her cheek pillowed in his hair. What better way to spend a couple of hours in the heat and silence of a hiding place?

* * *

 **I now have a Tumblr. Tumblrs are cool. Gimme a holler there if you want me to write a particular thing! Same username as here (since FFN is dumb and won't let me add an actual proper link...).**

 **Thanks for reading! -Keldae**


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